Look Back in Anger
by Lexwing
Summary: It's seven years from now and Sam and Dean have new responsibilities on their shoulders-including a kid in the house. But they also have to help a troubled Claire Novak...with a little help from their friends
1. Chapter 1

I honestly don't know where the show is going this season. So I had a little fun and projected the boys seven years into the future to see where they end up.

Two of the characters are original; otherwise I own neither the show nor any other characters.

I'm toying with the idea of writing a prequel that will explain in more detail some of the events referenced in this story, but who knows? So for now let's hit the ground running, shall we?

* * *

><p>Look Back in Anger<p>

_Seven years from now…_

The "Mommy and Me" group that met every week at the park had always been a bit suspicious of the Winchesters. After all, Whitefish, Montana was a small town, and rumors did tend to fly.

Not that anyone had anything against Jane Winchester herself-quite the opposite, in fact. They all agreed on that as they stood together in a knot.

In was a sunny day in early spring, and the sun shone warmly. Each woman had one eye on her own children and the other on Jane, watching as she pushed her young daughter on the swings.

"I mean, she puts in all that time at the clinic. Dr. Sorensen says he couldn't do without her," one mother offered.

"Her pies and cakes always sell first at the school bake sales," another added. "Folks practically snatch them off the table."

"And of course, that little Angela is such a sweetheart," Loni Johnson, the de facto head of the little group, said with a nod.

All the other mothers agreed aloud again.

Angela Winchester was a kindergartner now. She was an ordinary-looking little girl, with thick brown hair that hung straight down her back. She was on the thin side but tall and long-legged like her mother.

Every mother in Whitefish knew Angela to be the best behaved child around. She always played nicely with the other children, always shared her toys. She got only "A"s in school, and spoke respectfully to adults at all times.

Everyone in town—young and old, cat and dog—liked her. There was something about the child that made it impossible not to like her.

Her good influence even had a way of rubbing off on other children. In fact when a child was acting up a "play date with Angela" was usually one of the first remedies local parents applied. Within an hour of two even the wildest little boy would be playing quietly with his guest.

If it wasn't for the fact the Angela ran and whopped like any other child on the playground, and that she'd recently knocked out one of her baby front teeth in a very public fall, people might have thought the child was a bit strange.

"I mean, so what if Jane's living arrangement is kind of…unconventional," another mother named Beth volunteered. "If it works for her and Angela, I say, hey, live and let live."

"But then why does she keep it a secret? Why doesn't she just tell us the truth?" Loni asked rhetorically.

"All of them living in that little cabin," red-haired Staci clucked.

"And the husband we never see," added a tired-looking woman in a nurse's uniform. "I mean, how many Elks Club pancake breakfasts have we tried to invite him to over the years? And Jane always says the same thing-"

"'He's out of town,'" they all chorused together with a laugh.

"And then there's those brothers of hers," Loni said. The low, growling sound of a car engine distracted her for a moment. "Well, well, speak of the devil."

A black car, vintage and with a long, low profile, had swung around the corner and was parking at the curb. A lean man in a leather jacket got out and strode across the grass.

Jane's little girl had already spotted him. She leapt down from her swing in spite of her mother's protestations.

"Uncle Dean, Uncle Dean!" She shrieked as she ran. The man caught her and swung her about with a casualness that had the mothers shaking their heads.

Beth frowned. "Wait, that's not the brother I met. The one that brings Angela to Blue Birds is a lot taller. He can barely fit in those little chairs in the kindergarten room."

Loni smirked. "That's the other brother, Sam. He's the youngest. This one's Dean, the middle child. Or so Jane says."

As they watched Jane embraced the newcomer. The two took the girl by the hands and chatted quietly as Angela danced happily between them.

Patty, the nurse, squinted for a moment. "Well, they've both got sandy hair. But otherwise I don't see much of a resemblance."

"She doesn't look anything like Sam Winchester," Beth avowed. "She's pretty enough but, boy, he's a hottie. If I'd had a brother that looked like that I never would have left home."

"Beth, you're so bad," Patty chuckled.

"So if Jane is shacked up with two younger guys she isn't related to, which one is Angela's father?" Staci asked.

"Hang on, they're leaving," Loni said abruptly. "Jane, dear?" She called in a louder voice so she could be heard over the children playing. "Don't forget the PTA meeting next Tuesday night."

"I won't," the other woman called back. "See you all then."

As Jane gathered up her daughter's belongings and steered her towards the car Dean Winchester regarded the gaggle of mothers with a cool, appraising look. They smiled and waved at the handsome man, but he only turned his back to them and walked away.

"Well, it's clear Angela didn't get her manners from him," Patty huffed.

"He may be rude, but I sure wouldn't kick him out of bed," Loni said sagely.

"Me neither," Beth said wistfully as they watched the trio drive away. "Jane is so lucky!"

* * *

><p>"So, anyway, today at the clinic Angela helped me bandage up Mrs. Rossini's foot. Did a bang up job of it too, didn't you, baby?" Jane called over her shoulder to the tiny living room.<p>

"Uh huh. It smelled nasty," Angela called back in her frank child's way. "But she said I made her feel better. She gave me a peppermint."

"Cool," her Uncle Sam told the little girl. He and Jane were drying the evening's dishes.

"My daughter's a natural healer," Jane said proudly. "I'm thinking next stop, Harvard Medical School."

"You know, Stanford's got a good medical school," Sam offered. "And she'd be a lot closer to home there."

"True," Jane said thoughtfully as she scrubbed at a stubborn spot on a dish.

"Would you two knock it off?" Dean called back. "Everybody knows what the kid is going to be when she grows up."

"And what's that?" Sam asked.

"An awesome hunter like her Uncle Dean. Duh."

Sam tossed the towel he was using over his shoulder and went to stand in the living room. Since only about five feet separated the postage-stamp sized kitchen area from the rest of the cabin it wasn't a long walk.

It was a cozy domestic scene, Winchester-style. There was a fire in the fireplace, the air was still redolent of a home-cooked meal, and Dean and his niece were making custom bullets at the dining room table.

"Make sure she doesn't pinch her fingers in that loader," Sam reminded his brother.

"Dude, I'm not an idiot," Dean scolded. "She's just handing me the casings. Right, Ange?"

"Right." Angela had already carefully removed the empty shell casings from their boxes and sorted them according to size. In one small hand, however, she had grouped a few of them. She held them out now to show Sam.

"Sammy, look. A daddy, a mommy, and two baby bullets!"

"Can you tell us what kind they are?" Dean encouraged.

"Two .22s, a .38, and a .45," Angela rattled off immediately.

Dean winked at her. "That's my girl."

"Nice, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes.

Jane appeared next to him. "Sam Winchester, get your butt back in here and help me finish these dishes. I've got a mountain of paperwork to do and Angela still needs her bath."

As Sam turned to follow her Dean's lips made the sound of a whip soaring through the air.

"He wouldn't be whipped if you'd get it together and install that dishwasher that's sitting out in the shed," Jane told the older of the two Winchesters.

"Get off my back, woman," Dean retorted. "I'll get around to it."

"I've heard that before," Jane laughed as she and Sam resumed their work. "We bought the damn thing to wash Angela's baby bottles. It would be nice if we could get some use out of it sometime. Maybe even before we're washing the champagne glasses from her wedding reception!"

Dean frowned. "Janey, that's not funny. Don't joke about that kind of thing in front of the kid. You'll put ideas in her head."

Dean squinted down at the child next to him, trying in his mind to imagine her grown up, a woman. He couldn't do it. She stayed the same little midget she'd always been.

Angela, as she often did, seemed to know what he was thinking. She grinned at him, showing off the gap where her missing front tooth should have been.

"OK, pumpkin head, get back to work," Dean said gruffly.

"I'm not a pumpkin head," the child corrected. "I'm a jack o' lantern head. See?" She smiled again, wider this time.

Dean swallowed a laugh and gave her a stern look. "You heard your mom. Let's finish this up, and then it's a bath and bed. Got it, Winchester?"

"Aye, aye, captain," Angela said, saluting him.

"You are such a weird kid."

"No, you are."

"No, you are."

"Uh, uh, you are."

"Nope, you totally are."

"You're way weirder than I am, Uncle Dean."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

In the kitchen Sam smiled to himself.

* * *

><p>Dean rolled over on the sofa and cautiously opened one eye.<p>

Sunlight was streaming into the room. It must be morning.

He sniffed deeply.

Coffee was already on. God bless Janey, he thought, grinning to himself.

"Good morning, Dean."

The older Winchester rubbed his eyes and squinted across the room.

"Hey, Cass. How long have you been here?"

"All night. I was watching my daughter sleep," the angel explained. He still looked exactly the same as he had when Dean had first met him, stubble and all.

"I've told you before, you shouldn't do that. It's weird."

"It isn't weird," Jane corrected as she came into the room, pulling a sweater over her head. "I do it all the time."

Dean knew better than to ask if Cass had really spent to whole night in his daughter's room, or if he had slipped into her mother's for awhile. When it came to their relationship, whatever it was, the angel had absolutely no sense of humor.

Jane wouldn't talk about it either. Even the most ribald jokes Dean came up with, he knew, would be greeted only with two cold stares. So he'd learned to keep his mouth shut on that score.

"Dean, do you want eggs for breakfast?" Jane now asked as she started to pull items out of the fridge.

He sat up and started pulling his boots on. "Yes, ma'am."

The Winchesters' first encounter with Jane had been a hostile one, to say the least. But she had had no one else and nowhere to go.

So he and Sammy had ended up looking after her, for a time. The upside was that they discovered Jane had put herself through college cooking in various restaurants.

Now, years later, whenever he came home from the road there was someone to cook a tasty, hot meal for him if he asked nicely. After so many years living on crappy cheeseburgers and little else Dean still appreciated the novelty.

Dean nudged the old recliner where Sam was sleeping with the toe of his boot.

"Get up, Sammy. Breakfast."

"Huh?" Sam's eyes blinked open and then focused on their guest. "Oh, hey, Cass."

Sam stood, stretching out his long arms. His hands touched the ceiling.

"Man, Dean," he complained, rubbing his lower back. "Next time I get the sofa."

"You lost the coin toss, dude. Get over it," Dean growled at his brother.

But he didn't really mean it. It was rare nowadays that they were both home at the same time. Since Angela had arrived the Winchesters had tried to make sure there would always be one of them home with Jane and the baby. But the downside of that was that one or the other was always away doing his job.

Dean knew in his heart, no matter how much he and Sam fought, that deep down he still missed hunting with him. He missed Sam's company on the road.

Jane had always insisted that their arrangement wasn't permanent, that the two brothers could both come and go as they pleased.

But privately both Dean and Sam had agreed that wouldn't be an option for a few more years. Not until Angela was older and better able to look out for herself.

Dean had already known from helping to raise Sam how much work it was to take care of a kid. Sure enough the last five years had been a blur of bottles and diapers and first steps and walks to school.

Adding to that was Angela's unusual ancestry, which also meant endless spell work and warding to keep her safe. Not to mention the occasional unannounced visit from the uncles on the celestial side of her family tree.

Because Jane had no family, and because Cass was the closest thing to family he and Sam had left, both Angela and Jane had become honorary Winchesters following the baby's birth.

Dean liked to think the name also gave them a bit of protection. There wasn't a hunter or demon alive anxious to mix it up with a Winchester, no matter what her origin.

While Dean was ruminating on all this Cass was regarding him sternly.

"What, Cass?" He finally asked.

"She is missing a tooth."

"Angela? Yes, she is. She and a neighbor boy were climbing that big oak in the park and she fell out. She scraped her knee and knocked out a tooth." Dean shrugged. "The dentist said since it was a baby tooth it was nothing to worry about."

"Her adult teeth will start growing in in a year or two," Sam added for the angel's benefit. "Those are the permanent ones."

But it wasn't the aesthetics of his daughter's smile that was troubling the angel. His voice was concerned, almost fretful. "Did she feel pain?"

"She did, in the fall." Jane looked up from the pan where she was melting butter. "And her mouth bled a bit. But she was fine in a few hours. She's already forgotten about all that. Our daughter's half-human, Cass," she reminded him. "She feels pain."

"I do not wish that for her."

"I don't either, but it comes with the territory, I'm afraid." Jane began cracking eggs into the pan, and then whisking them quickly with the back of a spoon.

"She's a Winchester," Dean added. "She's a tough kid."

Seemingly mollified, Castiel shifted away from them and was now examining the mantle over the fireplace.

It was full of angel figurines Dean and Sam picked up in their travels—pudgy cherubs, sparkling Christmas angel ornaments, even porcelain teddy bears in angel's robes. It was a running gag between the brothers and Angela, and she loved every one of them.

"Ridiculous," Cass opined. "This is not what we look like."

"I like them," said a young voice from the doorway. Angela stood there, dressed but with her hair still tangled from sleep. "They're funny."

"Morning, baby." Jane smiled at the child over her shoulder.

"Angela Cassandra," Castiel greeted her in his formal, old-fashioned way.

Angela regarded her father solemnly. After a long moment she spoke to him softly in Enochian.

She seemed to have been born speaking it, able to communicate silently with Cass before she could speak to anyone else in the family. Since most humans couldn't even write in Enochian without three or four ancient books in front of them, the Winchesters assumed the ability was just part of her birthright.

Cass responded in kind, and the girl went to him. She put her arms around his waist and hugged him, just like any other child would.

Over the years the angel had gotten better at recognizing the human need for physical affection. He patted the child gently on the head.

She smiled up at him, and then turned to her mother without leaving the protective circle of Cass' arms.

"Mom, can I show Cass where we're going to build the tree fort in the backyard? Please?"

"All right. I'll fix you breakfast when you get back. Take a jacket," she added.

"And use the door, not angel travel," Sam added as he and Dean sat down at the table. "We have neighbors. You can't be too careful."

"Understood." Cass allowed the child to take him by the hand and lead him outside.

The three remaining adults ate breakfast together. Dean filled them in on what had happened on the road—an encounter with a shapeshifter, no big deal. Sam talked about what was happening at Angela's school and the macaroni necklace she had brought home.

"Man, don't schools ever come up with anything new?" Dean groused good-naturedly. "You used to make those, Sammy."

"I think kindergarten teachers probably stick with what works," Sam mused. "When Angela starts first grade in a few months they'll hit her with some new stuff."

"Don't bet on it." Dean had never concealed his contempt for formal education. He and Sam had pieced together an education while on the road with their father, changing schools the way other kids changed hairstyles. Like Sam Dean had finished high school, but unlike Sam his educational goals had never gone any higher.

"So what's with the PTA coven in the park, Jane?" Dean asked as he helped himself to another piece of toast. "When I got there yesterday they were staring at you and Ange like you were bugs under a microscope."

"They mean well." Jane sighed. "They're just bored. I give them something to gossip about, which they appreciate. Plus they like to ogle you and Sam."

Sam frowned. "Tell me about it. Beth—Dakota's mother—"

"Dakota," Dean smirked rudely.

"—practically sat in my lap at the last classroom meeting. Her husband gave me the stink-eye all afternoon."

"This is a small town we live in, guys," Jane reminded them. "A small, weird, town. And it doesn't matter what they think about the three of us. What matters is what they think about Angela. As long as this place treats her well they can call me anything they want behind my back."

Dean admired Jane's absolute determination that her very unusual daughter would have as normal a childhood as possible. He didn't always agree with it, but he didn't argue. Not even Cass did.

Mothers felt differently about things like child-rearing than fathers did, Dean guessed. If his own mother, Mary, had lived, Dean was sure she never would have allowed John to take their sons out on the road with him at such a young age. But of course if Mary had lived John would never have become a hunter in the first place.

Jane had moved on and was now telling some stories about what was happening at Whitefish's little medical clinic. She had been a hot shot ER doctor in a big city hospital before she'd been sent on a different path. She still worked part time to keep her skills sharp, she said.

"You never know when someone is going to show up here at the cabin needing stitches," she said with a smile. "And it's better if I do it than you guys. I can always recognize when a hunter has stitched himself up because it looks like something Edward Scissorhands would have done," she laughed.

"They come for your cooking," Sam corrected her. "The free medical care is just a bonus."

They were both right. Everyone in the hunting world knew the Winchesters, and knew that there was a safe house in Montana where a hunter could get medical help and lay low if he or she needed to do so.

They'd also all heard about the unusual child that lived there. The unspoken rule was you didn't ask the Winchesters about her. Ever. Anyone who did would be unceremoniously tossed out of the cabin on his rear.

But a smart hunter who kept his mouth shut would enjoy great coffee, the services of a pretty doctor, and the admiration of a cute kid who was always interested in hearing stories from the road. To most hunters it was a fair exchange.

When they were finished eating Sam gathered up the plates and took them to the sink. He paused there, gazing out the kitchen window into the back yard.

"What are they up to?" Jane asked curiously.

"They're doing that weird angel thing we're they just standing really still."

"They're still talking to each other," Jane clarified. "Just without words."

Dean knew that Enochian was unlike any human language. It was apparently able to express very difficult concepts and complex ideas in a single word, or even just a thought. A massive work of human literature like, say _Moby Dick_ or _War and Peace_, Cass had once explained, could be distilled down to only a few phases in Enochian if an angel ever cared to do so.

Which they usually didn't. There was almost nothing in human culture angels found valuable.

There had been a few over the centuries, like Gabriel and Balthazar, who had lived among humans and found them amusing. But theirs had been a patronizing affection, like one might have for a dog.

Castiel was the only angel who had come close to understanding and appreciating human beings on their own terms. And the results had occasionally been disastrous.

But then there was Angela, who had a foot in both worlds. Sometimes Dean wondered if the whole reason she'd been conceived in the first place was so that there would be someone who could interpret for both sides. Maybe she would be the one finally able to mediate conflicts between humans and the angels when they arose.

In his more cautiously optimistic moments Dean sure hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

That Sunday was warm and sunny again, so Dean seized the opportunity to do some work on the Impala. She'd sounded a bit rough on the drive back from Oregon, and he wanted to make sure everything was ok.

Jane had had to go into town for supplies. Dean had agreed to babysit in return for a homemade apple pie.

After the visit from Cass the day before Angela had been usually quiet and solemn all evening. That often happened-Dean suspected her private conversations with Castiel were pretty intense. He'd never known an angel to make what one would call light conversation. But she'd woken up this morning bouncy and full of energy, back to her old self.

To keep her out of trouble Dean had settled the child down with a rag and a pile of greasy tools to clean. She was now sitting on the driveway next to him, diligently polishing away and singing along to the Oldies station on a beat-up portable radio. "Suffragette City" was playing. She got just about every word right.

With a cold beer in one hand and a wrench in the other, Dean was happy. Or at least as happy as he was capable of being.

"Hey, Dean, I was in the back yard taking a look at the roof. It looks like there're about a dozen loose shingles," Sam told him as he rounded the corner of the garage.

"Yeah, three feet of snow in winter will do that," Dean grunted without looking up.

Sam ruffled up Angela's hair as he passed her and came to stand next to his older brother.

"There's rain in the forecast for next week. Someone's going to have to get up there and fix them before then."

"I suppose _somebody_ will," Dean retorted.

"Shoot you for it."

Dean straightened. "Fine."

Each man held out a hand and made a fist.

"Angela, you start us off," Dean told his niece. "Keep everything nice and square."

The song over, the child turned down the radio. "OK. Ready?"

"Yep."

"One...two…three...shoot!"

Sam held out his flat hand. Dean held out his index and middle fingers at an angle.

"Scissors beats paper, Dean wins!" Angela crowed.

"Dude, come on. Best out of three," Sam urged.

Dean just laughed. "No way. Roofing nails are in the shed, Sam. Have fun."

Sam sighed and peered up at the sky. "Not a cloud in sight. I can probably wait another day or two."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean chuckled. He turned back to the car but Angela held up a small hand.

"Actually since you're both here, and Mom isn't, I need some advice."

"You do, huh? Romantic advice?" Sam asked teasingly.

She wrinkled her little nose. "Gross. No."

"Yeah, Sam. Don't you know cooties are everywhere?" Dean reminded him.

Angela regarded him steadily. "There's no such thing as cooties, Uncle Dean."

"Oh, right, I forgot, you're too mature for cooties." He wiped his hands on a rag. "So what do you need advice about, short stuff?"

"Well, it's a case, I guess."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "A case? You mean, like, one of our kind of cases?"

The little girl frowned in thought. "I've been thinking about it, and yeah, I think it is."

The two brothers exchanged a long look.

Most of the time Angela behaved like any other five and a half year old girl behaved. But there were other times, particularly when she'd been around Cass, or any of the other angels, that she suddenly seemed spookily mature. Like an adult in a kid's body. Not even an adult—something much, much older.

Sam and Dean privately referred to this as the child's "angel side coming out." They tried not to make a big deal out of such moments. But it was always more than a little jarring.

"I'll get you some root beer," Sam offered. "Then we'll talk."

A few minutes later the Winchester brothers leaned against their car while the child sipped her soda.

"You won't tell Mom what I'm going to tell you, right?" She asked.

"We can't make that promise, sweetheart. If it's something important, something dangerous, then we'll have to tell your mother," Sam said gently.

"Why don't you lay it out for us first and then we'll worry about who's going to tell who what." Dean took a last swig of his beer and tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin.

He paused to ponder that. He had a house and a kid to take care of, and he recycled. Who would have thought?

Angela thought about their terms for a moment, and then nodded. "OK. Well, it's about Claire."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other blankly. They had been bracing for the worst. This wasn't it.

"Who?" Sam asked.

"You know, Claire."

They continued to look puzzled.

"Jimmy's daughter," Angela said, as if that should be obvious.

"Jimmy Novak?" Sam asked in surprise.

Angela nodded.

Dean glanced at his brother. "Whoa."

"I know. That's a blast from the past, huh?" Sam turned his attention back to his niece. "Who told you about Claire and Jimmy, Angela? Your mom?"

She played with the tab on her soda can. "Uh uh."

"Cass?" Dean suggested.

"No, we don't talk about that stuff." The child shook her head. "I'm never going to need a vessel, Cass says. My soul isn't separate from my body the same way his is."

Dean squatted down next to the child. "Can you talk to Jimmy, Ange? I mean, have you?"

"No. He is Cass's vessel. He can't communicate, not with me or anyone else."

The child said this matter-of-factly, but it still sent a cold chill down Dean's spine. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Sam was similarly troubled.

The brief time they had spent with Jimmy Novak, Castiel's vessel, had been one of the saddest experiences Dean could remember, and that was saying something.

Jimmy had been a devout man who had willingly accepted the angel's call to be is physical body on Earth. Cass had been abruptly called back to Heaven, leaving Jimmy to try to reconnect with the family he hadn't seen in months. Then demons had gotten involved, and the whole thing had gotten ugly. Really, really ugly. A dying Jimmy had ended up sacrificing himself, volunteering to become Cass's vessel again, in order to spare his only child, Claire, from the same fate.

"Then how do you know about Claire?" Sam repeated.

"And _what _do you know about Claire?" Dean added.

Angela frowned. "It's really hard to explain."

Sam sat down on the pavement next to hear. "Try, Angela. We want to help you, but remember that we can't communicate without speaking like you and Cass can. We need you to go slow. We need to hear the whole story."

"I've just been thinking about her," Angela explained. "Claire, I mean. It's like, one day I never knew about her, and the next I did."

"Did you dreamwalk, like your mom does?" Dean asked.

Jane was the only non-angel they knew who could dreamwalk and communicate with other people while they slept. It was also how she communicated with Heaven. When she was awake Jane could hear the angels only as faint background noise. "Like static on a television in the next room," she'd always said.

"No. It's just a knowing sort of feeling. Right here." The child held her hand over her solar plexus.

"Angel scanner?" Dean suggested to his brother over the child's head.

Cass and the other angels were tuned in to the world differently than humans. They were able to pick up on every minute event and change, like a spider sensing a vibration in a web. They used that knowledge to tip them off about danger.

The Winchesters used the old police scanner they kept in the trunk of the Impala to do the same thing. Hence the term "angel scanner."

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, looking back to his niece. "Ok, you know about Claire. What is it that makes you think there's a case?"

Angela shook her head in frustration. "I can't explain that either. But she's in danger."

"What kind of danger?" Dean asked.

The little girl squeezed her eyes shut as if looking deep inside herself. After a moment her blue eyes blinked open again. "It's not that specific. I just know she's in danger. She needs me."

"Honey, I love you, but you're five years old and not even four feet tall," Dean said bluntly. "Claire's got to be, what, a college kid by now. How can you help her?"

"I can," the child said. "I just know I can. You can help her, too. But we need to go to her."

Sam could see the child was getting upset. He put a comforting arm around her. "We hear you, Angela, OK? And we believe you."

She cuddled into his side. "You do?"

"Of course." Dean was already thinking ahead. "First things first. We need to have a sit down with Jane, see what she says. Where was it Jimmy lived, Sammy, do you remember?"

"Uh…Pontiac, Illinois. I can do a search on the Internet, see if anything turns up."

"They live in St. Paul, Minnesota, now." Angela corrected, resting her head against Sam's arm.

"OK then. A search of St. Paul it is," Sam assured her.

* * *

><p>Jane opened the cabin door, grocery bags balanced on either hip, to find a Winchester council of war waiting for her.<p>

Sam and Dean were sitting on the couch, with Angela perched between them.

"Oh, boy. That's never good," Jane said as she closed the door with her foot. "What's happened?"

"Everything's fine, Janey," Dean assured her.

"Really?" She set the bags down on the table. "This isn't like the time you had to tell me Angela got in trouble in class for telling her teacher she'd, and I quote, 'made that spelling test her bitch'"?

Dean smirked a bit. Sam cleared his throat.

"No, no, nothing like that," the younger Winchester assured her.

"And it's nothing like the time that bird smacked into the window and broke its neck, and she ran outside and picked it up, and it flew away like nothing had happened, all in front of the neighbors? And you guys had to convince them it was a really rare kind of bird with a naturally crooked neck?"

"I remember that. We said it was an _Ironius maideni_," Dean chuckled. "That was classic."

"We have a case," Angela announced boldly.

Jane pulled the milk and eggs out and put them into the fridge.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean 'we' have a case? You have school on Monday."

"And a case," Angela said with enthusiasm.

Returning to the living room Jane pulled up a chair and sat down.

"All right, talk." She quickly held up a hand. "Sam first."

"Sam always goes first," Dean groused.

As quickly as he could Sam filled Jane in on this discussion they had had with her daughter. Jane sat quietly, listening, asking for clarification on only a point or two.

"So the sixty-four million dollar question is, did your search turn up anything?" Jane finally asked.

Sam held up the sheaf of paper in his hands. "Nothing occult. But Angela's right about Claire being in trouble. Three arrests in the last two years. Minor stuff, mostly—loitering, destruction of public property. So far she's gotten off with a slap on the wrist every time."

"But she's twenty-one, almost twenty-two, now. Legally an adult," Dean added. "So that won't last much longer."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But, baby, I don't think that's the kind of thing you can help with," Jane gently told her daughter.

"I can," Angela said stubbornly. Her lower lip was jutting out, a sure sign that the child was digging in her heels.

Sam, ever the peacemaker, jumped to his feet. "Angela, let's you and I get the rest of the groceries. Dean and your mom can decide what to do without us."

The child squinted up at her tall uncle. "When adults come up with an excuse to get a kid out of the room it means they don't want them to overhear something. You do know I know that, right?"

"I do. Happened to me a lot growing up." Sam took her by the shoulder. "Let's go."

As soon as the door closed behind them Jane put a hand to her forehead. "Dean…"

"She came to us, Janey. She is genuinely concerned."

"I don't doubt that, Dean. But you know how I feel about always having to be the bad guy. I want to be her mother, not her warden. What would you do, in my place?"

"You want to protect her, that's natural." Dean leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. "But she sees and experiences things none of the rest of us does. If her instincts are telling her something is wrong then something is wrong."

Jane shook her head. "I can't let you guys go to Saint Paul."

"She'll be perfectly safe, you know that…"

"That isn't what I'm talking about, Dean!" Jane lowered her voice again with a sigh. "We can't disturb those poor people's lives again. We just can't."

"Jimmy knew what he was signing on for," Dean reminded his friend.

"But his wife and daughter didn't. Nobody asked them. Not Jimmy, not Castiel." She smiled sadly. "Jimmy made a tremendous sacrifice. Without Cass you and Sam wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have Angela. I am grateful to Jimmy. I truly am."

"Then you should be willing to help Jimmy's daughter. Whatever trouble she might be in."

"Dean, do we have the right to open those old wounds? You know, I think sometimes you and Sammy forget how terrifying, how absolutely…life-altering all this supernatural stuff is to people who've never seen it before."

"I survived it," Dean reminded her. "And you survived it."

But Jane just shook her head.

"Cass never talks about Jimmy—I don't think it ever even occurs to him to do so. But it seems to me the Novaks must have had a very happy little life until Cass came along. I'm not saying Cass did it on purpose. He's not capable of thinking in those terms. But his actions still destroyed that family. You met Jimmy Novak, Dean. Can you honestly tell me that if he'd known what would happen he would have made the same choice again?"

"Maybe not," Dean admitted. "But he did agree to it. To spare _her_."

"And just imagine how Claire feels, having to live with _that_." The woman rubbed her eyes tiredly. "If that poor girl is acting up, who can blame her?"

"So what do you want to do here, Janey? You are Angela's mom. You get the veto whether you like it or not."

Jane was quiet for a long moment. "She was really serious about all this, huh?"

"I've never seen the kid this serious," Dean said truthfully.

Jane rubbed her forehead again. She was silent for a long moment.

"All right, she can go. But I'm going, too."

"That's fine." Dean grinned. "It'll be nice to have you on a hunt again. You always were a hell of a shot."

"It's not a hunt, Dean, and there will be absolutely no shooting, not when my kid's involved. Let's call it a…a…an exploratory…mission.

"A mission?" Dean echoed.

"I'll work on the phrasing before we get there," Jane vowed.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive to Minnesota was uneventful.

They stopped at a few places along the way so Angela could take pictures with her mother's cell phone camera. This was to be her homework to make up for the school days she was missing, capped off with a presentation for show-and-tell when she got back.

Sam figured it would be the dullest show-and-tell ever. So far most of the pictures were of pieces of pie in roadside dinners and of the swimming pool at the motel where they had stayed the night. But then again, who knew what five year olds would find interesting?

He had gotten Claire Novak's home address off her arrest records. It was a tidy residential neighborhood in St. Paul, with sturdy-looking bungalows on a tree-lined street.

It was morning when they arrived. Neighbors waved at one another as they got into their cars and headed for work. A yellow school bus slowly trundled down the street heading for a stop on the corner.

"Which one it is, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Before Sam could answer Angela spoke up from the backseat. "It's the white one with the red door."

They didn't bother asking how she knew.

Dean cruised to stop just in front of it and shut off the engine.

"OK, let's go," the older Winchester said.

"No, Angela and I are going," Jane corrected him. "You and Dean are staying here in the car."

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her. "Jane, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I am. I don't know if Claire or her mother remember you two—maybe they don't. But I don't want to risk frightening them any more than we have to," Jane said firmly. "I'll text you and let you know if and when you can come in."

"Assuming you get past the front door," Dean muttered.

Jane ignored him and helped Angela out of the car. The child looked ready to head for school herself in her overalls and yellow sweater.

The Winchesters stayed parked at the curb, close enough to see all the action take place and to intervene if needed.

Jane paused just inside the front gate. But Angela went boldly up the brick walk and knocked on the front door.

It was opened by a sturdy, dark-haired boy of about eight. "Who're you?" He demanded of the child.

But before she could speak he spotted the school bus. "Crap, the bus is here! Davy, c'mon or we're going to miss it!" He hollered.

Another dark-haired boy, younger and smaller, shot past him out the door, his backpack swinging to and fro as he ran for the bus stop.

His brother ran after him, shouting a quick, "There's someone at the door, Mom! Bye!" over his shoulder before his disappeared.

A pretty women Sam recognized as Amelia Novak appeared in the still-open doorway. She was smiling and laughing.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she told the child on her doorstep. "My boys were running late this morning. I hope they didn't scare you."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

_Boys?_ Dean mouthed.

Sam shrugged.

"Did you need something, honey?" Amelia asked the child, a puzzled expression growing on her face. "Are you selling cookies?"

"C'mon, Ange, you can do it," Sam said under his breath.

The little girl finally found her tongue. "No, ma'am, I'm not selling anything."

"Then are you lost?" For the first time she saw Jane waiting by the gate. "Is that your mommy?"

"Yes, that's my mommy. And, no, I'm not lost," Angela said in her small, soft voice.

Sam could see her taking a deep breath.

"I need to talk to you about Jimmy," she said calmly.

Even from several yards away Sam could see the blood drain from the woman's face. "About…about…Jimmy?" She stammered.

"Well, Jimmy and Claire," Angela clarified.

The woman now looked genuinely terrified. "How do you know about him? No one…" She stopped speaking abruptly and slumped a bit against the door jam.

Jane quickly moved forward and took her arm. "Mrs. Novak, let's go inside, shall we? We'll explain everything."

Supported by the younger woman Jimmy's former wife allowed herself to be helped inside. Angela trailed after them.

Dean glanced at his brother as the door closed. "Now what?"

"Now we wait," Sam sighed.

* * *

><p>The family had eaten waffles for breakfast, Angela decided as she followed her mother and the other lady down a tidy hallway to the kitchen. The air still smelled like butter and syrup.<p>

It was a nice, big house. Their whole cabin could probably fit in the living room. A carpeted flight of stairs was open to the central hallway. She'd bet everyone in this family had their own bedroom, and no one had to sleep on the sofa.

She glanced up at the pictures lining the walls. There were lots of fair-haired Claire—as a baby, as a little girl, in graduation robes. There was also several of a stocky man and the two boys Angela had already met. In a few Amelia was posed with them, smiling happily. Claire was there, too, but she didn't look happy at all.

There wasn't a single picture of Jimmy anywhere.

"You've remarried," Angela observed aloud as her mother helped Jimmy's ex-wife sit down at the kitchen table. She looked around the spacious kitchen. It was a pretty space, with shiny silver appliances and curtains with chickens on them.

Jane found a half-full coffee pot and filled a mug, setting it down in front of the other woman.

"Oh, your name isn't Novak anymore?" Jane asked politely. "I'm sorry, we assumed it was."

Amelia looked from the woman to the child as if each had two heads. "No…no…I'm… Mrs. Carter now. I met Bob a year after…after…"

"Drink your coffee, it'll steady your nerves," Jane encouraged.

"And you had two more children. That must be nice for Claire," Angela observed. "I'm an only child. But one of my friends at school just got a baby sister and she's so cute you could eat her all up."

Amelia Carter's hands were shaking so badly she couldn't hold on to her coffee mug. "Oh, God, oh, God, you're both one of them, aren't you?"

"One of whom?" Jane asked. When Amelia didn't answer she looked at her daughter.

"Angels. Or demons. I'm not sure which she means," Angela explained to her mother.

"Oh. No, Mrs. Carter, we aren't angels _or_ demons." Angela's mother was speaking in her softest, most soothing voice, the one she used with patients at the clinic. "We're human, I assure you."

Tears had started to well up in the older woman's eyes.

"You can't be. No other humans know about what happened to Jimmy. Just Claire and me…and those two other men. The ones that _angel_," here she spat out the word, "went off with."

Angela looked up at her mother triumphantly. "See, she remembers Sam and Dean."

"Not now, baby," her mother told her gently.

Jane sat down next to Mrs. Carter. "I can see we're scaring you. Please know that was not at all our intention in coming here. If you want us to go, we'll go."

"Mom!" Angela protested.

Angela's mother held up one index finger. It was her "shush or else" warning finger, and Angela knew to heed it. She snapped her mouth closed.

Mrs. Carter had been watching the exchange with eyes as wide as saucers. "That's…that's really your daughter?" She finally asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry we didn't introduce ourselves earlier but you looked rather faint. I wanted to get you to a chair. I'm Dr. Jane Winchester. This is my daughter, Angela."

"Hi." Angela gave the woman a small wave.

Mrs. Carter finally managed a gulp of coffee. She was staring straight at Angela. "You're a child. How can you know about Jimmy?"

For a moment Angela chewed at her lip. In her own family she could always be 100% honest. At school and on the playground she always had to be careful not to say too much. Now, in this situation, she wasn't quite sure what to do. She looked expectantly at her mother.

"Tell her, sweetheart. It is the truth, after all," Jane reminded her. "And she has a right to know."

"I'm Cass' daughter. I mean, Castiel's daughter," Angela explained. "The angel that possess-"

Mrs. Carter clapped her hands over her ears after if she couldn't bear to hear what Angela was about to say. After a long moment of silence she shook her head.

"No. No, that isn't possible. I went to Sunday School, to church. I know angels don't have children."

"Not usually, no," Jane admitted. "But sometimes they do. I know it's not in the Bible or anything, but…" She shrugged.

"Jesus is in the Bible," Angela reminded her mother.

Jane nodded. "Well, yes, there's Jesus."

"Jesus was the son of God," Amelia corrected.

"Hmm, yeah, funny about that…" Jane stood. "You don't mind if I pour myself a cup, do you?"

Mrs. Carter waved her ahead weakly.

"They wrote that part down wrong," Angela explained matter-of-factly. "Jesus was the son of an angel, the one that appeared to Mary. Angels are sort of like the sons of God. So if you want to look at it that way God was Jesus' grandpa, not his dad."

Amelia's expression looked as if she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and that she might be about to do both.

"We've gotten a bit off track here," Jane reminded her daughter as she sipped her coffee. "Ooh, yum," she complimented her host to distract her. "It this Kona? I love Kona."

Amelia nodded. "My…husband gets the beans from work. He's in…shipping," she said in a reedy voice.

"That must be nice." Jane sat back down again and set her daughter on her knee.

Mrs. Carter had resumed staring at Angela. "You're half angel. And you can talk…to _them_?"

"Angels, yes. Demons, no. I'm not allowed to talk to demons."

Amelia's whole body shuddered, no doubt remembering her possession by one of those creatures. She looked down at her hands and flexed them.

"A demon shot Jimmy," she said softly. "It used my hands to pull the trigger. And I couldn't stop it…"

"Nobody could have. That's what it means to be possessed. Look, you don't have to believe any of this," Jane said quietly. "I know it's a lot…"

"I still have nightmares about it. Claire does too, although she won't admit it. And we can't even go to therapy because no one would believe us." Amelia laughed shakily.

"_We_ believe you," Angela said encouragingly.

Mrs. Carter raised her head. "Why do they do that?" She demanded. "How could they do that to us?"

Jane was quiet. "It's very difficult to explain…"

"Try me," the other woman said. Her expression was grim. "I've waited ten years for answers. The least you can do is give them to me."

"I'm certainly not an expert on the supernatural, Mrs. Carter. But I'll try and explain as best I can," Jane offered.

"Demons do not have bodies of their own. In order to act in the human world they have to steal one. So they possess people. You were very lucky. A lot of times the victim doesn't survive a demon possession."

"And the _angels_?" Amelia asked with a quick glance at the child across the table from her. She still said the word "angels" as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Angels have bodies, but they're much, much bigger than us," Angela explained, holding her arms over her head to illustrate. "They're huge, and full of light and energy-it's almost like they _hum_ with life…" the child enthused.

"What my daughter is trying to say," her mother interrupted, "is that humans cannot look on an angel in his natural form. It can be fatal. So angels need vessels, too. The difference is angels aren't allowed to seize one. They always have to get permission."

"But you can see them the way they really are." Amelia looked directly at the little girl.

"I can," she admitted. "And Mom can. But most people can't, so they need the vessels. I can hear them, too."

"Jimmy could do that," Amelia whispered. "That's how it started. You know, I haven't been back to church since it…since Jimmy…I can't...

"You're still angry." Jane nodded. "I don't blame you. They play by a whole different set of rules, don't they?"

"I love my husband and my boys. But I loved Jimmy, too." Amelia's eyes filled with tears.

"And you love Claire," Angela reminded her.

Mrs. Carter sniffed. "Of course I do. You know about Claire? The trouble she's been in?"

"I came here to see her," the child explained.

"Why?"

Angela pulled on one of her braids in frustration. "Everyone keeps asking me that and it's soooo hard to explain."

"Sometimes Angela knows things nobody else knows." Jane shook her head. "We just sort of go with it."

"Claire needs me, Mrs. Carter. I don't really know how, or why, but I'm here to help her."

Amelia sniffed again, and dabbed her eyes on a napkin. "That's a really strange thing to say. But very sweet."

She leaned back in her chair. "Poor Claire. She's tried so hard for so long…but what she went through, what she saw…The world thinks Jimmy walked out on us. Sometimes I think that's what Claire believes, too."

A key scraped in the back door lock, and Mrs. Carter jumped to her feet.

"Hey, Mom, I need some cash. My rent's late and I…" The young woman skidded to a stop as she came through the door. "Oh, I didn't know you had company."

"Claire, honey, we were just talking about you."

"Huh," Jimmy's daughter said indifferently.

Angela took a long look at Claire. She didn't look anything like she did in those pictures in the hallway.

She was of medium height, but too thin. Her skin was pale and drawn, as if it hadn't seen sunlight in a long time. Her pretty blond hair had been dyed pink, and one half of her head was shaved. There were rings in her ears, eyebrow, and nose. Boots that looked like they had been swiped out of Frankenstein's closet added weight to her thin legs. She looked, Angela thought, like the teenagers who hung out in the parks in Whitefish after dark, smoking and playing loud music.

"You look cool," Angela said honestly. "Pink's my favorite color."

"Uh, that's nice. Look, I'll be in my room looking for some music I burned, Mom." Claire brushed past the child and clomped up the stairs.

"But Claire I want you to meet…" her mother began helplessly, only to be interrupted by a slamming door upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Carter said. "Claire's been having a hard time this semester. She lost her place in the college dorms and had to move into an apartment with some friends. It's really started to affect her grades. We wanted to have her move back in here with us, but…" She trailed off, clearly not knowing what else to say.

"Mrs. Carter, may I go upstairs and talk to her?" Angela asked. "I came all this way."

Amelia sat back down heavily. "You can try, honey. But don't be hurt if she won't open her door for you. She doesn't for me."

Angela started back down the hallway. As she did so she heard Mrs. Carter speaking in a low voice to Angela's mother.

"I have to ask. If the child really belongs to that angel, and Jimmy is the angel's vessel, then what are she and Claire to each other? Are they related? Are they half-sisters?"

"It would take bunch of genetic tests and a PhD in Religious Studies to try and untangle that," Angela heard her mom reply. "So I can't give you an answer."

Mrs. Carter sighed again. "How can you process all this?" She demanded of Jane. "My head feels like it's going to explode. Doesn't yours?"

"It did, for the first year or two," Angela's mother admitted. "But believe it or not you do get used to it."

Angela had to smile at that comment as she padded up the stairs.

* * *

><p>It wasn't hard to guess which door was Claire's. There were band stickers and logos all over it.<p>

Angela tapped on it gently.

Nothing.

She tried again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

She knocked a third time, and this time called out, "Claire? I want to come in."

After a beat a muffled voice called back, "Who is that?"

"Angela. May I come in?"

"Who is…" The door swung open. Claire looked down at her, a bunch of CD jewel cases in her hand. "Oh. You're Angela?"

"Uh huh." Not certain if Claire would close the door again in her face the child slipped past her into the room.

It was clear that someone—Mrs. Carter, probably—had once taken great care in decorating the room. There was rosebud wallpaper, and a nice big bed with a fluffy cover, and a pretty little dressing table where Claire could sit and do her makeup.

But much of the wallpaper was now obliterated by posters, there were what looked like cigarette burns on the rug, and dirty clothes covered every other flat surface. The air was stale and musty, scented with cheap incense.

"What are you, some kind of relative or something?" The young woman asked.

"In a manner of speaking."

"'In a manner of'…you're weird, kid."

"Thank you." Angela gazed up at the biggest band poster, the one over the bed.

Claire followed her gaze and smiled proudly, tossing the CDs back on the bed. "Cannibal Flesh. I've seen 'em play the Twin Cities three times. Ever heard of them?"

"Yes."

"They rock, huh?"

"Not really. My uncles say they're posers and they've ripped all their guitar solos off Tony Iommi."

"Who's Tony Iommi?"

"Black Sabbath's guitar player."

Claire laughed and flopped down on her bed. "How do you know who Black Sabbath is? And you couldn't be more wrong. What are you, four?"

"Five and a half," Angela said proudly.

"See? You're too young to know what good music is," the girl snorted. "Or how bad-ass that band is. They're _way_ into the forces of darkness."

Maybe she didn't know much about music, but the forces of darkness was a subject Angela did feel qualified to discuss. She pointed at the poster.

"I'm old enough to know they drew the sigil on that poster backwards. Somebody must have copied it out of a book because it looked cool. But it makes no sense the way it is. You couldn't summon anything with it. Except maybe a pizza guy."

Claire sat up sharply. "What do you know about summoning things and sigils?"

"I know better than to try them," Angela said bluntly. "People who mess with things they don't understand get their butts burned. That's what my Uncle Dean says. And by the way that's not a ram's skull they drew under their band logo. Looks more like a cow skull. Totally different spell."

Claire stared at her, wide-eyed. Then she shook her head.

"You're crazy, kid."

Angela shrugged. She stepped over the window and glanced down. The familiar black Impala was still there. Sam was leaning against the car door reading his cell phone. No doubt her mother had texted him about what was happening.

"Geez, just when I thought you might be the tinniest bit interesting it turns out you're just nuts." Claire made an exaggerated show of yawning.

She then flung herself off the bed and went to the window. "What are you looking at?"

She glanced down.

"Hey, cool car. And who's the hottie standing next to it?"

"That's just my Uncle Sam."

"'Uncle Sam', huh? Well, he can draft me any time!" Claire laughed.

"I don't know what that means," Angela said with a frown. "Claire, would you sit down for a moment so we can talk?"

The young woman stared down at her. "Man, you're a solemn little bugger, aren't you?" She threw up her hands. "Fine."

She dumped a pile of clothes off her desk chair and sat down again.

"Talk."

Angela cautiously perched on the edge of the bed. "You asked before if we were related. And we sort of are."

Claire was making a great show of examining her black fingernail polish.

"I know about what happened when you were twelve. I know about the angel and Jimmy."

As quickly as a snake Claire was out of her seat again. "Don't you dare say that name! Don't you dare!"

"But he's your dad…"

"No, he isn't!" Claire interrupted her. "He doesn't deserve the word! Fathers don't walk out on their families!"

"He didn't walk out on you," Angela said quietly. "You know that."

"Yes, he did! He abandoned me and my mom!"

Claire leaned down and grabbed the front of Angela's overalls.

Angela had never been hit before. But for a split second she was pretty certain Claire was about to hit her.

"Jimmy was called by Heaven," the child tried to explain. "That's different."

"No. It. Isn't," Claire hissed. She let go of Angela abruptly. "Now get away from me, you sick little freak!"

With tears welling in her eyes Claire charged past the child and down the stairs.

Angela ran after her, reaching the kitchen just in time to see the back door slam. Barely registering that Sam and Dean were now in the Carter's kitchen she looked out onto the alley behind the Carter home.

Claire had jumped into a beat up old car, revved the engine, and was already peeling away from the house.

Still seated at the table Mrs. Carter put her head in her hands.

"It didn't go so well," Angela admitted.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

Claire slammed the apartment door behind her. She was still breathing so hard she felt dizzy, and her eyes stung.

She barely remembered the drive over from her mother's house. All she could see in front of her was that strange little girl.

"_I know about the angel and Jimmy."_

She tore off her jacket and dumped it in the hallway, then charged into the living room. The apartment was a small and dingy one, across the river on the west side of Minneapolis. Neon lights on the storefronts across the street blinked on and off through the windows. It wasn't in the best part of town, but it was close to campus and, more importantly, it was all they could afford right now.

Claire stopped short when she found her roommate, Heather, lounging on the sofa.

"Did you get the money?" Heather asked her. Heather's kohl-rimmed eyes were bleary, and a quick glance told Claire why. The bong was out on the coffee table, next to the Ouija board and Heather's pack of Tarot cards.

"Hey, Claire."

Heather's stoner boyfriend Chris greeted her from where he was sprawled on the dingy carpet. Another of Heather's friends, Toby, waved at her from the beat-up old easy chair.

Claire swallowed hard, and tried to compose herself. She wasn't about to lose her cool in front of her friends.

"No, no money. But I will. Don't worry about it."

Heather shrugged.

"Who's worried? I did my Tarot, and I'm going to come into some money soon. So it's all good." She sat up straighter. "Oooh, should I do yours?"

"No!" Claire spoke more sharply than she intended to. "I mean, I'm good. I can do them myself later if I want.

"_Jimmy was called by Heaven."_

Tear prickled at the back of her throat. "Listen, I've got to get some stuff from my room before my night class. So I'll see you guys later."

She hurried down the narrow hallway to her room. It was barely half the size of her room at home, but it was her own.

Claire sat down on the edge of her bed, breathing deeply.

Her mom must have said something. It was the only explanation.

But why, after keeping silent about what had happened for so long, would she say something to some strange kid?

Then again, the kid had suggested they were related in some way. Were they? Jimmy Novak's parents had died years ago, and he'd been an only child. But maybe he'd had some cousins or something Claire had never met…

Claire rubbed her temples.

"Claire?" Heather's face appeared around the corner of the door. "Can I come in?"

Claire tried to smile. "Sure."

"Are you OK?" Heather had dyed her hair a deep shape of scarlet, and she favored layers and layers of black clothing. Her lips, like her eyes, were painted black. But Claire could still see the genuine concern in her friend's eyes.

After what had…happened back in Pontiac, Claire had drifted away from most of her childhood friends. Claire knew everyone in town assumed that her father had walked out on them. There had been no way to tell people what had really happened.

The more she drifted, the more the other kids started to dislike her. They began calling her "stuck up" behind her back. They didn't know she went home from school every day and cried, or that she woke up in the middle of the night screaming.

Then her mother had remarried, and her stepfather had relocated them to Minnesota for work. Claire's two half-brothers, Max and David, had arrived in rapid succession. Amelia had thrown herself into being a soccer mom, overjoyed to be once again immersed in the day-to-day demands of modern life.

But Claire wasn't. After what she's seen, what she'd experienced, the confines of their neighborhood in St. Paul had seemed impossibly small. Their neighbors went about their business, convinced they were safe in their little worlds.

Claire knew otherwise.

She started dying her hair, wearing strange clothes. Lost, lonely, and angry most of the time, Claire had been miserable in high school. The other kids at school had called her a freak, and worse.

She had pretended that didn't bother her.

Her freshman year of college hadn't been much better. But during her sophomore year she'd been assigned Heather as a roommate, and the two girls had hit it off. Heather had a fascination with the occult; they were into the same music and the same outrageous fashions.

Unlike Claire, Heather was also pretty and confident, with no trouble attracting other people. Guys, in particular, buzzed around her like flies.

For the first time since she was little Claire had a friend. She had become a part of Heather's circle, Goth kids who smoked clove cigarettes and painted each others' nails.

Claire learned to tamp down on all of her hurt, and to bury what had happened to her father under a carefully maintained façade of indifference.

Now she faked a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. There were just some…relatives from my dad's side—my biological dad-at my mom's house. I guess it brought back some bad memories."

Heather's carefully plucked eyebrows arched with curiosity. Like Claire's other friends, she believed Jimmy had left Claire's family of his own volition.

"Yeah, that would have to suck," Heather commiserated.

Both girls knew perfectly well that Heather couldn't really understand what Claire was going through. Her own parents were still happily married, living in the upscale suburb of Oakdale. But their friendship ran deeply enough that neither girl pointed this out.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the bong." Heather added. "But Chris put in a double shift at the garage, and he just needed to relax."

Claire frowned. Heather's boyfriend, Chris Carter, was the only sore spot in her relationship with Heather.

He wasn't a college student; he'd never even finished high school. He worked as a mechanic and spent his free time smoking grass and listening to heavy metal music.

It had been Chris that had invited some of his buddies to the girls' dorm-room party junior year. The guys had bought a keg with them in violation of university policy, and things had gotten out of control. As a result the two girls had been thrown out of the college dorms.

Claire didn't care. It was cooler to have an apartment anyway. At least, that's what she told herself.

"You know, you could do so much better," Claire now said gently.

Heather sat down next to her. "Yeah, like who? Toby?" She laughed.

Toby Rogen was a friend of theirs from the college dorms.

"Don't be mean, Heather. He's a nice guy, and he's been crazy about you for years. Why else do you think he follows us around like a little puppy dog?"

Heather leaned back on the bed. "Toby's nice and all, and he'd got a real gift for the Ouija. But Chris is smokin' hot. Oooh, and speaking of which, Jason called."

"That loser," Claire huffed. "I'm not talking to him."

"Yeah, that's what I told him. Cheating on you like that—what a creep! But," Heather said sadly, "what a hottie."

"There're way hotter guys out there," Claire said boldly. For a moment she thought of the brown-haired man she'd seen outside her house that morning. She quickly shook her head.

"I've just got lousy taste in men, I guess. Like mother, like daughter."

Heather squeezed her arm. "Want me to do some spellwork? I can probably get rid of your relatives for you."

Claire knew Heather and her friends played at witchcraft. Even Claire herself occasionally did a Tarot card spread for fun. It was just that—fun. If Heather and the others had ever tried to do something serious, like summon something, Claire would have been forced to speak up. But that hadn't happened.

If Heather wanted to burn some herbs or cast the runes to ensure success on a test, or to make sure they had their rent money on time, who was Claire to tell her she shouldn't?

Claire thought again of the little girl, and what she had said about sigils.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks for the thought, though."

Heather winked. "Anytime, babe."

* * *

><p>Sam pulled back the covers on the bed so Angela could slide down between them. It was already after eight and the child's eyelids were drooping sleepily.<p>

Dean and Jane were just outside the motel room door, quietly conversing, discussing the options for their next move. Angela had been insistent that they were not to leave the Twin Cities yet.

It was a tough call, Sam admitted to himself as he tucked the child into bed. He'd only gotten a glimpse of Claire Novak as she had rushed past him, but he didn't think she'd be in much of a mood for another visit from the child. On the other hand, he also didn't want to discount Angela's instincts.

The little girl smiled up at him. "Tell me a story."

"Aren't you too big for stories?" He teased.

"No, not yet," she said solemnly. "Please?"

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. He had to smile. How many nights had Dean sat on the edge of Sam's own bed in some fleabag motel, making up stories to keep his younger brother amused? Dean's stories had usually been heavy on the gore, but they had done the job.

"So what will it be? 'Snow White'? 'Cinderella'?"

Sam was joking. Even as a toddler Angela had hated what she called "made-up" stories. Instead she wanted stories about people she knew, or people that Jane, Dean, or Sam had once known.

Her maternal grandfather, Andy DiMarco; John Winchester; Bobby; Ellen and Jo—all had appeared in these nighttime stories from time to time. Even Crowley occasionally made an appearance, but only as comic relief.

"I want to hear about when I was little," she now demanded.

"You're still little."

"No, I mean _really_ little."

"Oh, like when you were a baby, you mean?"

"Sure." Angela smiled. "Tell me about when I was born."

"Hmm. Well, you know most of it all ready. I'm not sure it would be much of a story."

The child rolled her eyes. "Sammy…"

"OK." Sam cleared his throat. "Let's see. You were born in the downstairs bedroom at your Aunt Jody's house in South Dakota."

"Because that was a safe place." Angela nodded.

"Yeah. There was no way we could go to a hospital, and Jody was nice enough to take us in."

The little girl wriggled a bit under her blankets to get more comfortable. "Did I cry when I was first born?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. You'd be better off asking Dean about that. He was actually there when you were born."

"Yes, he was." Angela nodded. She knew this part of the story well. "But he didn't want to be."

"Yeah, your mom wouldn't let go of his hand." Sam chuckled at the memory. "Dean says your mom was holding on to him so tight her knuckles were white. So he was kind of stuck."

"But he covered his eyes with his free hand during most of it," Angela added.

"Yep."

"Why weren't you and Cass there?"

"We were nearby. But we were busy."

"Uh huh," the child said skeptically.

"But as soon as we could we came in to see you," he added quickly, before Angela could ask _why_ he and Cass had been busy.

They'd actually been holding off an attack by other angels who'd been determined that Angela never be born. But _that _was a part of the story Sam didn't want to have to tell her until she was older.

"Jody had rolled you up in a white blanket," he now continued. "Your mom was holding you, and you were looking around with these great big blue eyes like the world was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen."

Sam still remembered the moment vividly. They'd been on the run for months, trying to keep Jane safe until her child could be born. And then, suddenly, the baby had been there. It had been as if, just for a moment, everything was right in the world.

"Was I cute?"

"You were a baby; of course you were cute. Dean held you for awhile, and then I held you and you grabbed on to my fingers and held on so tight! I couldn't believe how strong you were!"

She yawned again. "I was a tough baby."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. But I think really you were warning me not to drop you. I was a little freaked out at first that I'd hurt you."

"Not as freaked out as Cass was."

"No, Cass and the other angels were absolutely convinced they'd hurt you if they touched you. They'd stand around looking at you, but they weren't any help when it came to taking care of you."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, we had to name you, of course. While she was pregnant your mom was sure you were going to be a boy. She was going to name you 'Andrew Cass' after your grandpa and your dad."

"But Dean knew better. Because he'd met me. I mean, future me." The little girl scrunched up her face in thought. "Sam, if I'm going to be able to time travel some day, why can't I do it now? That would be soooo cool!"

"Yeah, I don't think it works that way, kiddo. Cass says your powers are going to come on gradually, as you get older. And even then they'll be kinda limited."

She sighed. "Bummer."

Sam chuckled. Angela was being raised as a hunter, which meant she already knew about a lot of the big, bad things lurking in the world around them.

But she was also half-angel. So she was privy to a whole lot of information from her father and her celestial uncles that they weren't willing to share with ordinary humans.

Angela had been born with free will. So the angels could not see or predict her future. All they were able to say is that while she would never be as powerful as an angel, she would in time be much, much more powerful than other humans.

So far nothing Dean, Sam, or the angels had thrown at her had fazed the child. She seemed to simply accept the world, and her place in it, for what it was.

"So, as I was saying, Dean was the only one who knew you were going to be a girl," Sam continued. "He came up with your name, so you could still be named after your grandpa and dad like your mom had planned."

"'Andrew Cass' became 'Angela Cassandra.'" The little girl nodded.

"That's right. And of course it also stands for 'Angel Castiel'. Dean still thinks he's a genius for coming up with that, even if no one outside the family will ever get the joke."

"But we get it."

"Yep, we do. Now, Dean and I thought at first maybe you'd be one of those creepy 'Twilight' kind of babies that grows super fast, even though Cass told us you wouldn't be." Sam laughed. "But you were like any other baby. Just cuter, and quieter. As long as you were fed and dry you were pretty easy to take care of."

Sam smiled to himself.

He'd been just past thirty when Angela had been born. He'd lived several lifetimes in that short span of years.

But he could still remember the abject terror he'd felt when he and Dean had put Angela and her mother in the back of the Impala for the drive back to Montana. The idea that he and Dean were now responsible for such a tiny, fragile life had scared him more than any rugaru, demon, or revenant ever had.

As usual Dean had been the one to hold things together. He just accepted his new role as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a half-angel baby asleep in the backseat.

Of course Dean had already met the child in her future form, so that probably helped. Plus he had spent so much time hauling Sam around as a baby that he had no problems pitching in to care for the infant. From day one Dean could balance Angela on one arm and make a bottle or answer the phone with the other. It had taken Sam many months to master those skills.

Angela rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to keep them open. "Then what happened?"

"We took you home. And you grew into a big, strong, little girl. The end."

"Awww…"

"No more stories. Sleep," Sam told her, turning down the light on the bedside table. "We'll be right outside if you need us."

"Mmm hum," Angela murmured.

Sam could see the steady rise and fall of her chest in the semi-darkness. He left the room as quietly as he could, making sure to leave the motel room open a crack so he could keep an eye on her.

"Is she down for the count?" Jane asked softly.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Sam." The woman turned her attention back to Dean. "I still say we shouldn't force the issue."

"Let Angela have one more shot. See if she can talk to Claire when she's calmer," Dean argued. "She's probably more reasonable when her mother isn't around."

"Maybe, maybe not," Jane said skeptically.

"What about visiting her on campus? Classes are still in session; maybe we can catch her there and see if she'll talk to Angela," Sam suggested.

"Would you believe a five year old who told you she knew about something that happened before she was born? Really?" The woman asked, looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

"If I'd seen what Claire has seen? Absolutely." Dean nodded.

Sam folded his arms. "Did Amelia say anything to you about Claire? Anything that might help?"

Jane sighed. "Just that she knows her daughter has been very unhappy for a very long time. I think Amelia wants Angela to help Claire; she just doesn't know how she could."

"Join the club," Dean chuckled.

Sam paused to study his brother.

Dean was past the big "4-0" now. That was a long life span for a hunter. He didn't bounce back from injuries quite as fast as he used to, and he now had lines around his eyes and mouth that didn't go away when he stopped smiling.

Dean had brought down the Leviathans—well, with help from Jane and Cass and Crowley. He'd pulled Sam back from the brink when Sam's mind had given way under an onslaught of horrible memories. He was the best and most feared hunter in the country.

There was still nobody else Sam would rather have next to him in a fight.

"What are you looking at?" Dean now demanded.

"Nothing."

"Bitch," Dean said affectionately.

"Jerk," Sam said with a smile


	5. Chapter 5

Look Back in Anger Ch. 5

John Winchester used to have a certain set of phrases he'd use over and over on his sons. When they had been tired and didn't want to be pushed any more. When they had complained about having to live on the road. When they had fought with him, or when they had disobeyed his orders and he had punished them for it.

One of them had been, "Someday, when you have kids of your own, you'll understand."

Dean had never bought that excuse. He'd usually responded with a grunt. Or, if he was really angry at the old man, an insistence that he, Dean Winchester, was never having kids. Ever.

Dean had practically raised Sam, and, for a brief moment, he'd been the father figure in Ben's life, too. The weird thing was he was actually pretty good with kids.

But Dean had always figured that said more about his maturity level than his parenting abilities. Hadn't more than one woman told him he was stuck in adolescence and that he should grow up?

The real truth, though, the down-to-the-bone, wake-you-up-at-3 a.m.-truth, was that the idea of having kids of his own had always scared the crap out of him. He'd never been able to put his finger exactly on why, but it had.

"Dean?"

He looked down to find Angela tugging at his pant leg. She was looking up at him expectantly.

"You have to hold my hand. I'm not allowed to cross streets by myself, remember?"

"Right." He reached down and took the child's small hand in his own as they waited for the light to change.

They'd managed to find a parking spot a few blocks away from the University of Minnesota's downtown campus. There was still a bit of early spring bite to the air, but the students milling around had already shed their heavy winter coats in favor of jeans and t-shirts. They all seemed to be enjoying the sunshine.

No, Dean thought ruefully, now he knew why he'd been so scared of having kids that he'd never allowed his mind to even dwell on the possibility.

Having a kid was like ripping your heart out of your chest, giving it legs, and letting it run off without you. All you could do was pray it would always come back to you in one piece.

He glanced down at the brown-haired girl next to him. Angela wasn't biologically related to him. But every time he looked at her it still made his chest ache a bit.

In a strange sort of way they'd been bonded even before she was born. After all, he had been the one her future self had appeared to, demanding his help to keep Jane safe through her pregnancy. And then of course he'd gotten stuck helping Jody with the baby's unscheduled and very much improvised delivery—an experience that still made him cringe when he thought about it.

But he'd been there when Angela had drawn her first breath.

Dean could count on both hands the number of people he'd loved in his life: his parents; Sam; Bobby; Ellen and Jo; Lisa and Ben; Cass and Jane. He'd be the first to admit that wasn't very many for four decades on Earth.

And now he loved Angela, too, with a fierceness that often startled him. He'd held her, fed her, and protected her every day of her life.

When she was a baby there hadn't been much to worry about. Babies generally stay where you put them.

But Angela wasn't a baby anymore. She was a child, who ran and went to school and fell down and talked to angels and did a thousand other things Dean wanted to stop her from doing.

Only he couldn't. Not when she was who she was. All he could do was stand back and hope she would be all right.

"Dean, you're squeezing my hand too hard," she told him gently as they crossed the street, snapping him back to reality.

"Stay close," he cautioned as they walked towards the student union building. "You remember the rules, right?"

"'Don't leave your sight, always leave mom's cell phone on, and always stand with my back to a wall if there is one,'" she recited from memory.

"Good girl."

Dean had only ever been on college campuses when working cases, but this one looked pretty typical. There was a green lawn in front of the student union, and people were lounging around, eating lunch and shooting the breeze.

Right in front of the doors and wrapping around one side of the structure was a big concrete patio. An earnest-looking young man in dreadlocks was collecting signatures for some kind of petition, and a few guys were throwing a football around.

"You're sure Claire is here? Doesn't really look like her scene."

"She is," Angela assured him.

A group of young women in cheerleading uniforms emerged from the building carrying posters and a megaphone. Several of them unrolled the banners and began taping them to the walls. One picked up the megaphone and began to exhort the audience to show support for the baseball team's upcoming home game. Some of the others waved pompoms in the school colors.

Dean grinned. "Great, we're just in time for a pep rally."

Angela gazed up at him with a serious expression. "Don't hit on any of the cheerleaders while I'm gone, Uncle Dean."

"What, me? No, I just appreciate a showing of…school spirit."

"Uh huh." The child was not fooled. "You need to meet a nice hunter lady closer to your own age."

He scowled down at her. "You sound more like your mother every day."

Angela smiled widely. "Thank you. I'll be right back."

"Not out of my sight," he reminded her.

She gave him a quick wave as she trotted off.

* * *

><p>"Another pep rally?" Heather complained loudly as she and Claire finally found an open table outside the student union and sat down. "How totally lame! What is it now?"<p>

"Baseball season's starting, I think," Claire supplied.

"It's always some season or other—football, baseball, basketball, hockey…Don't these people have anything better to do with their time?"

Claire poked dispiritedly at the limp lettuce in her sandwich. "I guess not."

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Heather asked.

Claire pushed her lunch tray away. "I'm just not hungry. And I still can't believe Professor Tessier gave me a C- on that paper! I worked on it all week."

"I told you not to get creative. You should have just picked a boring topic like the rest of us did," Heather said smugly.

"It's a Religious Studies class. I thought the whole point was to study religion."

"Yeah, but I don't think a paper with a title like, 'Angels: Heaven's Messengers or Celestial Fascists?' was ever going to fly. Pun intended."

"Hey, I quoted the Old Testament! At length, too. I mean, read it—all they ever do is smite people, and then smite them again."

"You're a Bio major—what are you doing wasting time with Religious Studies anyway?"

Claire sighed. "I thought it would help raise my GPA. I went to Sunday school for years—I thought this class would be a piece of cake! But we're not learning anything about God or the afterlife. It's all just boring garbage about who nailed which thesis to the door and when they did it!"

Heather stared at her for a long moment. "Wow, honey. You are stressed out! We really need to get you laid."

Claire shot her a frosty look. "No, we don't."

"I'm going to see if Chris has a friend…"

"Don't you dare! That creep Jason was one of Chris' friends, remember? And that turned out _so_ great…"

But Heather already had her cell phone out of her purse and had gleefully skipped out of Claire's reach.

Claire put her head in her hands.

"Hi, Claire."

Startled, she whipped around in her chair to see the little girl standing behind her. The yellow sweater had been traded for a blue one, and her hair was loose instead of braided, but Claire would have known her anywhere.

"Geez! Somebody needs to tie a bell around your neck!"

The child tilted her head. "Why?"

"So you can't sneak up on people!"

"Oh. Sorry."

Claire took a deep breath. "What the hell do you want? Why are you here?"

"You remember me, right? I'm Angela, from…"

"…the day before yesterday, yeah. Some stalker you are. You aren't supposed to take a day off."

"I didn't. My uncles had to take a little side trip. They got a tip on a Wendigo up by Bass Lake. Turned out some other hunters were already on it, though."

Claire frowned. "A Wendigo? Is that like a Winnebago?" She glanced around her impatiently. "Where the hell is Heather?"

"No, it's nothing like a Winnebago." Angela sat down in Heather's vacant chair. "Anyway, while they were gone my mom and I got to hang out and eat pizza and watch movies on Pay-Per-View. It was really cool."

The older girl rubbed her forehead. "Look, I don't know who you are…"

"I've already told you. A couple of times."

"… but I've about had it. I have way too many problems without adding you into the mix." Claire stared hard at the child. "You're some cousin from my dad's side, right? What do you want, closure? Well, let me tell you, you're not going to get any. So beat it."

The little girl frowned. "Didn't you mom tell you who we are? She said she was going to call you…"

Claire looked away. "I've been screening my calls."

"Hey, who's this? Did you give my chair away already, Novak?" Heather walked back to the table with a smile as she dropped her phone back into her purse.

"No, she sort of invited herself. Heather, this is Angela. Angela, this is my roommate, Heather."

The child waved. "Hi."

"Right back at you, cutie pie." The redhead glanced at Claire. "Hey, is this that relative you were telling me about? The one that…"

"Yeah," Claire interrupted before Heather could say anything too revealing. "I guess. Look, kid, it's been surreal, as usual, but I've got a lab in twenty minutes."

She stood up in such a rush that her bag caught a pile of Heather's books on the table. They slid to the concrete floor with a crash.

Claire immediately bent down to pick them up, but Angela had beaten her to it. She piled all the books back into a stack, but lingered on one in particular.

"This is the _Malleus Maleficarum_." Angela looked up at Heather, her bright blue eyes serious. "Why do you have a copy?"

Heather laughed. "How does a little kid like you know what the _Malleus Maleficarum _is?"

"I know a little bit about a lot of things." Angela straightened up and handed the books back. "That's a dangerous book."

Claire's roommate tossed her head. "You're been watching too much TV, kid. It's just from the library."

Claire looked from Heather to Angela and back again. She knew there should have been something ridiculous about seeing such a young child challenge an adult. But there was just something about the little girl that made Claire take her seriously.

"Why? What's in it?" Claire asked her friend.

"It's just a reprint of a stupid old book. It's supposed to tell you how witches get their power, and how to hunt them. It's a bunch of B.S." Heather was looking less amused by the second.

"That book really was used to hunt witches, or at least people who were thought to be witches," Angela corrected. "A lot of innocent people died because of that book. And what's worse is that some of what's in there about witches is actually correct. That's why it's dangerous. You should give it back to the library, right away."

Claire regarded her roommate steadily. "It's just for class, right, Heather?"

"Oh my God, I cannot believe how freaked out you two are over a grungy old book! I just needed it for my term paper so I had at least once source that wasn't off the Internet. It's not like I'm going to use it as an instruction manual or anything."

Claire bit her lip.

"Don't worry about it, Angela. It's not a big deal," she finally said.

The little girl looked like she was about to protest, but movement on the other side of the patio caught her attention. Claire looked over, too, but she couldn't see anything past the pompom-waving cheer squad.

"I have to go." Angela reached into her pocket and handed Claire a slip of paper.

"Claire, that's my mom's cell phone number. Would you call me later? Please?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever."

The child took another step forward and laid a small hand on Claire's arm. Her touch was warm and…familiar, somehow.

"Promise?"

Claire was getting ready to lie, but she found she just couldn't, not with the child's earnest little face looking up at her.

"Yeah. I promise."

"Cool. We'll talk later. Heather, it was nice to meet you. Don't forget to get rid of that book," she called over her shoulder as she scampered off.

"Wow." Heather was quiet for a moment. "That is one odd kid."

Claire shook her head. "You have no idea."

* * *

><p>Dean looked directly into the meaty faces of the two security guards in front of him.<p>

"I'm telling you, I've just been sitting here, minding my own business," he said calmly. "It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining. What's the big deal?"

"Sir, if you don't have a student ID we're going to need to see some other form of identification." The larger of the two guards, whose name tag read "Jonesy," folded his arms as he spoke.

"ID, huh? Well sure, if you want…"

Dean was making a show of reaching for his wallet when Angela reappeared, cutting though the throng of cheerleaders and other celebratory students.

"Here I am, Uncle Dean! Sorry it took so long—there was a line." Angela rushed up to him and threw her arms around his waist. She peeped up at the two security guards. "Who are they?" She asked innocently.

"They work here at the university, sweetie," Dean explained, gently patting the child's head. "We were just chatting. Nothing to worry about."

The other guard, nametag "Smythe," looked from Dean to the child skeptically.

"This is your uncle?" He asked Angela.

"Uh huh." Angela gave him her widest grin, the one that showed off her missing tooth.

"And you let her go off by herself?" Jonesy demanded.

Dean had barely opened his mouth when Angela piped up.

"I had to go to the potty," she said shyly, "and he can't come in there. But he's been watching the door the whole time to make sure I was ok, see?"

She pointed through the crowd to a door marked "Ladies."

Dean quickly suppressed a smirk. "If you'd been gone any longer I was going to ask one of those cheerleaders to check up on you," he told the child sternly. He then glanced back at the two security guards. "Kids, right?" He chuckled.

Both men had visibly relaxed at the discovery that Dean was not, in fact, a pervert stalking their yell leaders.

Smythe smiled down at Angela. "What are you doing here on campus, honey?"

"Uncle Dean is showing me around."

"Yeah, class of 2000," Dean lied proudly.

"You should have said so, man," Jonesy told him.

"Well, campus has changed a lot since then. Truth be told, I barely recognize the place," Dean confessed. "But we're a big college family. My little brother? Stanford. And this one's mom?" He pointed to his niece. "UC Berkeley, and then Harvard Medical School."

"Damn," Smythe said respectfully.

"So, you were saying you needed some ID?" Dean reached for his pocket again only to have the guards forestall him.

"No, no, it's cool. Don't worry about it," Jonesy said.

"You sure? I don't want you guys to get in any trouble on our account. I mean, I can see how it looked—single guy of a certain age, cheerleaders…"

"No, you go on and enjoy the rest of your visit now," Smythe encouraged.

"Actually we were about to go have lunch," Dean explained. "I was going to introduce Angela here to her first 'Jucy Lucy.'"

Jonesy smiled. "You're in for a treat, kid. You both have a nice day."

"Right back at you." Dean took Angela's hand and the two of them walked away, casually, slowly, so as not to attract any more attention.

"Kid, you're a Winchester, all right," Dean chuckled when they were safely out of ear shot. "My old man himself couldn't have been any smoother. So, did you learn anything?"

"I think so. I just don't know what it means yet," Angela explained.

"Then we'll talk it out over lunch. I'm starving."

"Uncle Dean? What's a 'Jucy Lucy'? It sounds gross."

Dean grinned. "It's a cheeseburger with the cheese inside the patty, so it gets all melted. Minnesota's contribution to American road food."

Angela looked at him skeptically.

"I promise," Dean vowed. "You're going to love it."


	6. Chapter 6

Look Back in Anger, Ch.6

The bell over the front door rang as Sam and Jane entered.

"'Den of Antiquity,'" Jane read aloud from the sign painted on the window. "Cute."

"Witches like puns. I've never figured out why," Sam confessed.

It was a weekday afternoon, so they were the only ones in the small shop. Bookcases were stacked high with volumes of forgotten lore, and the air was rank with incense. Crystals suspended from the ceiling stirred a bit in the breeze created by the opening and closing of the door.

A sleepy-eyed young woman behind the cash register barely glanced up from her book.

Jane looked back at Sam. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Best witchcraft supply store in the Tri-State area," he vowed. "If what Dean told us on the phone is right, and this Heather person is dabbling with dark magic, this is the place she'd come."

He stepped up to the counter. He had settled on a low-key approach, so he wasn't in a suit and tie.

"Excuse me. I was wondering if you could tell me if you've seen this girl?"

It hadn't been hard to find a picture of Heather Murray on the Internet. She maintained half-a-dozen blogs and websites, all devoted to discussing her fascination with all things witchy. Most prominently featured her photo, which showed an attractive young woman with unnaturally red hair and pouting lips. Sam suspected a lot of the traffic her sites got had more to do with Heather's looks than with any interest in her writing.

The clerk barely glanced at it. "We get lots of girls in here," she shrugged. "I can't remember all of them."

Sam tried again. "Would you take another look? I'm trying to contact her for a news article on the local pagan community I'm putting together."

The salesgirl only sniffed. "Why, so you can make us all look like weirdoes, like you guys usually do? No thanks."

"Well, how about you, then? Maybe I could interview you."

"No, thanks." The clerk looked back down at the book in her lap.

Sam glanced back at Jane and shrugged.

"Is there someone else here we can talk to?" Jane asked.

The salesgirl slammed her book shut. "Fine. Boss?" She hollered. "Newspaper people here to see you!"

"Well, then show them back!" A muffled voice responded from somewhere in the rear of the store.

"I'm busy!" The clerk yelled. "Customers!"

"Customers! Bull! It's been dead as a doornail all day!"

Nonetheless Sam and Jane could hear the sounds of someone shifting boxes and stumbling over piles of books to reach them.

"That's OK—we'll come to you!" Sam called back.

They moved deeper into the murky light of the shop. While the front of the store held the more mass-market products—books on astrology, candles, and the like—back here the shelves held older, dusty books and jars of strange dried herbs. The real deal stuff, as Sam liked to think of it.

He rounded the corner of a bookshelf and came toe-to-toe with the store owner.

"Bobo!" He said in surprise.

"Sam Winchester! Holy crap, man, ain't you dead yet?" The older man with the graying ponytail grinned widely.

"Um, not yet," Sam said with a smile.

The two men embraced, the older one slapping Sam on the back enthusiastically.

Jane caught Sam's eye.

_Bobo_? She mouthed.

Sam pulled back. "Bobo, this is Jane Winchester. Jane, this is Burt 'Bobo' Reed, an old friend of the family. And one of the best witches I've ever met."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Bobo chuckled. "Nice to meet you, Jane."

"Same here," Jane said politely.

"I didn't know you owned this place," Sam told the other man.

"Yeah, bought it about three years ago, after Rollo bit it. Natural causes," he added quickly. "Stroke."

"That's too bad," Sam said.

Bobo shrugged. "Hey, he died in his own bed—what more can any of us want? Anyway, my old lady had been hassling me to stop spending so much time on the road, and I had a little money saved up, so here I am." He grinned again. "But where are my manners, huh? Come on back to the office and I'll make us some herb tea. Macy?" He called.

"What?" The clerk hollered back.

"I'm having tea with these folks! Yell if you need me!"

"Fine!"

Bobo rolled his eyes. "Stepdaughter. Hired her to make my wife happy," he added apologetically.

Sam and Jane trailed him back to a cramped little room at the very back of the store, just big enough for a desk, a few chairs, and a hot plate.

Jane looked pointedly at the line of salt across the doorway as they crossed it.

"Demon trouble?" She asked.

"Not in a long time, but you can't be too careful." Bobo winked at Sam. "Your old man taught me that."

While the older man filled the kettle and set it on the hot plate Sam explained about Heather and why they had come. He didn't say anything about Claire, of course. But Bobo had dealt with enough hunters over the years not to expect the whole story anyway.

"Oh, yeah, I know Heather," he nodded after a quick glance at the photo. "Nice girl. But I wouldn't worry too much about her. She's just a dabbler."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "A dabbler?"

"A dabbler is someone who plays with witchcraft, but doesn't study it seriously," Sam explained as Bobo filled mugs with tea and handed them around. "They buy a few books, maybe take a class or two, that kind of thing. But they're not willing to put in the years it takes to become a really skilled witch."

"All that stuff you see in the front of the store? The crystals and wind chimes and Yanni CDs? That's dabbler shit. They want a quick spell for love, or maybe a charm to help them win the lottery, but it stops there," Bobo explained for Jane's benefit. "I like Heather, I do, but trust me—in a few years she'll chuck all of her witchcraft stuff in the Goodwill bin and settle down in the suburbs like everyone else."

Jane sipped at her tea. "What about another girl that Heather spends time with, a bit taller and thinner? Pink hair?"

The store owner leaned back in his chair, mug in hand. "That'll be Claire. She doesn't come in as often, but I've met her. Claire's one of those bruised souls, you know?"

Sam titled his head. "How so?"

"You can read it in her the moment you meet her. Some shit went down in her life and she hasn't dealt with it yet. It's all over her aura, man."

"Has she said anything to you about that?" Jane asked.

"Claire? That's a laugh—she usually doesn't say two words to anybody. Let's Heather do all the talking. Heather's a lot bolder, so I think Claire's happy to just stand behind her. I saw that kind of thing in my own kids when they were teenagers." Bobo was thoughtful for a moment. "Sam here was raised on the road, so he won't get that, but you probably will," he told Jane.

"I do, actually," she admitted. "When you're young and insecure it's really helpful to have a more outgoing friend to sort of drag you along behind them."

"Exactly." Bobo nodded sagely. "Heather looks out for Claire," he told Sam. "She won't hurt her, at least not on purpose."

"Heather's gotten her hands on a copy of the _Malleus Maleficarum," _Sam told him.

"Not here, she didn't. I don't carry that, and I never have. I don't deal in that witch hunter garbage," Bobo said firmly.

"She said it was for a paper," Jane supplied.

"Then it was. The _Malleus Maleficarum _would have been way over Heather's head anyway. I doubt she'd have understood half what's in there. Hell, I've been studying witchcraft since '68 and there're parts of that thing _I_ still don't get."

The cell phone in Jane's pocket rang and she quickly checked the number.

"It's Dean. I'd better take this."

"Go ahead." Bobo waved to her.

After Jane had stepped outside to take the call Bobo turned back to Sam.

"So, that's her, huh?"

"'Her' who?"

"The angel's baby mama." Bobo smirked a bit. "He's got good taste, I'll give him that."

"Don't start, man," Sam cautioned.

"I know, I know, but I hear things, you know? Can't help but be curious."

"Well, don't be. Dean and I have a strict 'don't ask, don't tell' policy where Jane and her daughter are concerned. "

"Sam, that woman out there helped prevent the end of the world. Then she gave birth to a kid that might very well be the savior of humanity some day. Even by witch standards that is some heavy-duty shit." He laughed. "Besides, I've heard you've had hunters in the house when both she and the kid are there."

Sam sipped his tea. "Not if Dean can help it."

"She patched up Tom Wheeler that time he got blood poisoning, didn't she? He would have lost that leg if his buddies hadn't have brought him to you."

"They should have taken him to the hospital," Sam corrected.

"With him having the law after him in two states? Not likely. Everybody speaks highly of her, Sam; you don't have to worry about that.

"I'd prefer it if people didn't talk about her at all."

"Dean says they're on their way back to the motel," Jane supplied as she reentered the room.

"OK." Sam regarded his old friend seriously. "Bobo, is there anything else you can think of that would help us out? Anything at all?"

The store owner was quiet for a long moment. "If it's bad mojo you're looking for, I'd check out Heather's boyfriend. Chris something-or-other. He's not a witch, any more than she is, but he's definitely more into the darker stuff. Guys usually are—they think it makes them badass and gets them the chicks."

"Does it?" Jane asked.

"He got Heather, didn't he? And guys were lining up around here to date her."

"They met here?" Sam frowned.

"Yep. At an author signing for a new book."

"A spellbook?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Tantric sex manual," Bobo corrected with a wink. "Illustrated. One of my best sellers."

"I see." Sam hastily stood up. "Thanks for the tea, Bobo."

"Any time, man. Jane, it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Same here. We appreciate the time you've given us," Jane said honestly.

"Least I can do. The Winchesters have pulled my ass out of the fire more times than I can count," Bobo chuckled. "Sam, you bring that cranky brother of yours by. I'll see if I can get his chakras better aligned so he mellows out a bit."

"'Mellow' isn't in Dean's vocabulary, Bobo. But I'll tell him you said 'hi.'"

* * *

><p>"Wow," Jane said again, causing Sam to look up from the paper he was trying to read.<p>

"What now?" He asked.

The two of them were sitting at the small dining table in the motel room. Sam had Heather's term paper in front of him, and Jane had Claire's. Judging from the number of times Jane had exclaimed over something Sam thought she'd definitely gotten the better end of the deal.

"Nothing interesting in Heather's paper, Sam?" Dean asked. He and Angela were sitting in front of the TV, eating microwave popcorn and watching _Scooby Doo_ cartoons.

"It's amazing that anyone could make a paper on the 17th century witch trials boring, but Heather somehow managed it," Sam complained. "It's totally generic stuff."

"Not something a big, bad witch in training would write?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Unless she was deliberately trying to make us think she _isn't_ a big, bad witch," Dean mused.

"I think you may be giving her too much credit. She couldn't have known we'd be reading this," Sam argued.

"Yeah, well, teaching assistants should learn to lock their offices, then, shouldn't they?" The older Winchester chuckled.

"I hope the professor recorded the grades first," Jane said without looking up from Claire's paper. "I wouldn't want Claire to get stuck with a '0.'"

"I'll put 'em back, don't worry." Dean ate another handful of popcorn. "So, what's the verdict on Claire's paper?"

"Well," Jane said thoughtfully. "I think her professor grades a bit harshly, for one thing. It's an unusual topic. But Claire's got some great sources and she's built a really strong argument…"

Dean stared at her for a moment. "Thank you, Professor Nerdling. I meant what's in it?"

"Oh, that. It's a hatchet job on angels. Basically, she argues that they're a paramilitary hit squad, and that they smite first and ask questions later. Really harsh stuff."

"So she's out of line?" Sam asked.

"No, not really. That's the thing—she's pretty much dead on." Jane smiled a bit. "At least it jibes with a lot of my own experience with them."

"Ariel says angels are soldiers for the Lord," Angela announced around a mouthful of popcorn.

Dean snorted. Of all the angels he liked Ariel least. Not just because Ariel was now in charge of Heaven, but because Ariel had been the one most determined to stop Angela from being born. The angel had backed down only when Jane had put her newborn daughter into his arms and he had seen that she was, indeed, a celestial child and thus living, breathing evidence of God's grace.

The fact that Ariel now had the nerve to even _speak_ to Angela put Dean in the mood to do a little smiting himself.

"Yeah, Cass said something similar when I first met him," he said instead.

"Claire went back to the Bible for most of her evidence," Jane continued. "She even got the Sodom and Gomorrah story right, which almost nobody does. Mainly I think what this paper shows is that Claire is still really, _really_ pissed at Cass, and by extension the rest of Heaven, too."

"Which Amelia had already told us." Sam nodded.

"Not is so many words, but, yeah." Jane rubbed her eyes. "It does explain a lot about Claire."

"How so?" Dean checked his watch and then reached over and turned off the TV.

"Hey!" Angela protested.

"7:30," Dean told her. "Time to start getting ready for bed. Go wash your face and brush your teeth."

"I thought this was supposed to be a vacation," the child protested.

"Hunting is work, kiddo," Dean explained. He pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "Now march."

Once the child had disappeared Dean came to stand next to his brother.

"So you were saying this explains a lot about Claire," he reminded Jane.

"Well, yes. I'm no psychologist, and I don't know how it works with fathers and sons. But fathers and daughters…" She sighed. "When a woman doesn't have a good relationship with her father it can wreck the rest of her life. My theory is that Claire lost Jimmy at exactly the stage in her life when she needed him the most. Now that loss is coloring everything else she does."

"So the whole Lisbeth Salander act is Claire's way of dealing with her daddy issues?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled. "Dude, how do you know who Lisbeth Salander is?"

"I read." Dean shrugged. "Ok, I don't, but I've seen the movies."

Jane's cell phone rang, and she picked it up with a quick, "Hello?"

Her eyes widened a bit. She held up a hand to get Sam and Dean's attention.

"Yes, she's here. Hold on a second." Jane placed her hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "Angela, phone for you," she called out. "It's Claire."

Angela, face still damp, zipped out of the bathroom and grabbed the phone. "Hello?" She asked breathlessly.

The adults watched as Angela listened to the person on the other end.

"Yes, I knew you would call me," she now said.

Pause.

"Because you promised, that's why."

Another pause.

"Yes, I think we should definitely meet tomorrow. There're a lot of things I still need to tell you."

Angela looked up at her mother and uncles. "Ten a.m.?" She repeated for their benefit.

Jane nodded.

"Yeah, that would be good," Angela said happily. "Where do you want to meet?"

Dean quickly grabbed a piece of paper, jotted something down, and handed it to the child.

"Hang on, Claire." Angela looked down at her uncle's scrawl. "There's a park on Burnside Ave., not too far from the river…Oh, you know it. OK, great. I'll see you there. Bye."

Angela hung up the phone with a triumphant expression.

"See, I told you she would want to talk to me."

The adults exchanged more skeptical expressions.

"Let's take it one step at a time," Sam urged.

* * *

><p>From a distance Claire could see Angela rocking back and forth on a swing as she waited. The sun was warm, and the child seemed to be having fun running her sneakers across the grass under her feet.<p>

She finally glanced up and saw Claire heading towards her.

"Hi, Claire," Angela said cheerfully.

"Hey." Claire shot a skeptical glance at her. "You're here all by yourself?"

"Uh uh. My mom and my uncles are right over there." Angela pointed at the fence along the river.

Claire glanced in that direction and saw three adults: a fair-haired woman; a grim-looking man, also with fair hair; and the tall, brown-haired man she had seen outside her house a few days earlier.

"That's my mom, Jane. You haven't met her. But you've sort of met my uncles, Sam and Dean." Angela gazed up at Claire. "It was a long time ago, though, and they didn't want to freak you out by coming over. Do you remember them at all?"

"Should I?"

"They were there that night, Claire. They helped save you and your mom from the demons."

"Demons?" Claire echoed. She stared at the child again. "How do you know all this? Did my mom…"

"Oh, no, not your mom. She could barely talk about it at all. I know about what happened from Sam and Dean. And Castiel, of course."

"OK," Claire finally said. "I know I'm going to regret this, but I'll bite. Who is Castiel?"

Angela's blue eyes widened. "You mean he never told you his name?"

"Who never told me his name?"

"Castiel."

"What is this, an Abbott and Costello routine?" Claire flung up her arms in frustration. "Who is Castiel?"

"The angel."

It was as if someone had punched Claire in the stomach, knocking all the air out of her. "Don't start that again."

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew. The angel you met, the one that uses Jimmy as his vessel, his name is Castiel."

For a brief moment Claire allowed herself to remember—the roaring sound in her ears, the voice that had spoken to her from inside her own head…

"Never heard of him," she snapped quickly, shoving the memories aside as quickly as they arose.

She glanced around her again. It was such a peaceful, sunny day. People in the park were laughing, eating, talking. Why was she the only one who was dealing with this insanity?

"He's not an Archangel, so he's not as famous as some of the others. But his name is known," the child explained. "You can Google him."

"I'm not Googling anybody. Do you have idea how totally, completely crazy you sound?" Claire demanded. "That most people would have you locked up for saying what you're saying?"

"As a matter of fact, I do know that. But," Angela said thoughtfully, "that doesn't change the fact that it really happened. Demons really did come to your house, and Sam and Dean really did fight them off."

Claire sat down on an empty swing next to the child before her knees could give out.

She was silent for a long moment.

"I don't remember much about what happened that night," she finally admitted quietly.

"Sam said to tell you that your mom and dad wrapped you up in a blanket and your dad's coat," Angela offered. "And that you slept in the backseat of our Impala. And that later he hot-wired a car for you and your mom. Does that help at all?"

Claire thought for a long moment. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Demons are real, Claire. And so are angels, and so are a whole lot of other things we aren't supposed to believe in, either."

Angela chewed at her bottom lip for a moment. "Maybe you should tell me what you do remember."

The older girl shivered a bit as long-repressed memories began to bubble up again.

"I remember…I remember coming out of the house and seeing my father standing there. Only it wasn't my father. It was something else in my father's body. I called out to him. 'Daddy,' I said. But whatever it was said it wasn't my father, and then it walked away."

"Oh, that was a terrible thing to say!" The child was genuinely horrified. "But that was the angel talking, Claire. That was Castiel. He wouldn't have known how cruel that sounded. Angels don't understand human emotions very well."

Claire squeezed her eyes shut.

"Everybody assumed he had gone crazy, walked out on us. People from church brought over casseroles. My mother cried and cried. He missed my birthday, then Thanksgiving, and Christmas. After a few months we started to adapt to him being gone-dead, we thought."

She drew in a shaky breath. "And then one day he came back. He'd been gone a whole year. At first he seemed like himself. He looked the same—tired, but the same. The only thing different was that he wouldn't say grace at the table. Then his best friend came over and…and…"

"Sam and Dean tried to stop Jimmy from going back to you," Angela explained gently. "It wasn't safe. But he wanted to see you and your mother so badly he went anyway."

"I remember black, black eyes, like dolls' eyes…"

"Demon eyes."

"Yes. I do remember sleeping in the back of somebody's car. I remember my father leaving us again, and my mother slapping me across the face…"

Angela shook her head. "That wasn't your mother, Claire. That was the demon inside of her."

"I know that," Claire snapped. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

"But it does, Claire, don't you see?" The little girl looked up at her. "That's why I came all this way to see you. I had to. I was told to."

Claire gave her a frosty look. "Told by whom? God? More angels?" She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right."

"I don't know where the message came from. Maybe it just came from inside of me. But I had to listen to it, and I had to make you listen to it, too."

"So what does it want, kid? This magic voice inside of you?"

Angela pressed her lips together in thought. "I wasn't sure at first. But now that I've met you a few times, I think it wants you to forgive Jimmy for what happened. It wants you to stop being so angry at him, so you can move on with your life."

Claire scoffed. "I have moved on with my life! I'm here, aren't I? I'm in college, right?"

The little girl looked at her solemnly. "But you're not happy. I want you to be happy."

Claire put her head in her hands. "You're still little. When you're older you'll realize that most people aren't happy."

"But 'most people' don't have me," Angela corrected. "You do."

"And what are you going to do to help me, huh? Play therapist? Lend me your teddy bear?"

"No, I'm going to give you some advice. That's all."

Claire groaned. "Advice from a kindergartner. Perfect."

"My body may be young, but my soul is actually very, very old," Angela said in her odd little way. "When I say I have advice you ought to listen. Now, do you want to hear it, or not?"

"Fine."

"OK. You need to be open about what happened to you and your mom and Jimmy. I think your mom is finally ready to talk about it with you. You need to be there for her when she is. Don't shut her out. She loves you very much, and she'll need you to listen to what she had to say."

Claire felt chastened by the child's words.

She'd known for years that she was being too hard on her mother. Claire had been so busy pushing her mother away she hadn't been able to see Amelia's own pain.

Hearing another person say the same thing was like a splash of cold water in her face.

"Fair enough," Claire said simply.

"And then, I think, you should tell whoever else might be willing to listen."

Claire was far more skeptical of this prescription. She shook her head.

"Uh uh. No way. They'll say I'm nuts!"

"Maybe so. But _you'll _know you're telling the truth. You shouldn't lie about who you are to people who love you, Claire. Nothing good ever comes of doing that."

The older girl rubbed her temples. She took a shaky breath.

"I won't promise to follow all of your advice," she said. "But I'll follow as much as I can. How's that?"

"Good," Angela said with a beaming smile. "That's all I ask."

Claire stood again. Her legs felt a little shaky, like a newborn colt's.

The little girl's face fell. "Oh, do you have to leave so soon?"

"Um, I guess not. Why?"

Angela smiled up at her. "I was hoping you would push me on the swings for awhile. Please?"

Claire blinked. "What, you're back in kid mode all of a sudden? You want to play?"

"Yep. Pretty please?" Angela gave her a wide, beguiling grin.

Claire stifled a laugh. "You know, if you weren't so cute you'd be kind of scary."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

* * *

><p>Sitting on her bed, Claire contemplated everything that had happened to her that day.<p>

The visit in the park had been productive, in a strange sort of way. After their oddly intense conversation Claire had stayed for awhile and pushed Angela on the swings as requested. They had discussed ordinary things, like their favorite ice cream flavors and what movies they had watched lately.

She didn't know why, but Claire instinctively trusted the little girl. There was something so familiar about her that Claire understood why she had initially mistaken Angela for a relative.

That familiarity now made an odd kind of sense. Angela knew the angel; the angel had once used Claire as a vessel; and, according to the child, it was still using Jimmy as one. So they _were_ connected, just not by blood.

Claire hugged the pillow in her lap. She had skipped out on her afternoon classes, desperately needing to lie down and process the events of the day. She had ended up falling into the soundest sleep she could remember having in a very long time.

Now the sun was setting outside her window, but Claire was still not inclined to get up.

There was a tap at the door, and Heather's fiery red head appeared around it a second later.

"Claire, are you awake?"

"Sure. Come on in."

"You've been spending an awful lot of time in here lately," Heather rebuked her gently.

"Yeah, I know. How was your day?"

"Pretty good." Heather gestured for Claire to move over, and she did so. Heather climbed onto the bed and leaned back on another pillow. "But Chris got fired."

"What, again? How hard is it to keep a job as a mechanic?"

"Anyway, it doesn't matter, because he's thinking of opening his own place. There's that closed-up garage over on 4th…"

Claire knew which one she met. "That place is a dump."

"No, it's perfect! Chris and I went by and peeked in the windows. There's still a lot of equipment in the service bays, and there's an upstairs, too. We could have one of those totally awesome New York-type lofts up there."

"Where would Chris get the money to pull off something like that? You're talking tens of thousands of dollars…"

"Chris has friends. Even Toby said he could kick in a few thou, like a silent partner. And I'm gonna ask my parents. Chris is such a good mechanic I know it'll be a great investment."

Claire didn't bother sharing her opinion on what Heather's parents would probably say if asked to "invest" in their daughter's boyfriend's business. Instead she studied her friend for a moment, thinking about what Angela had told her.

"Hey, Heather? If I told you something, something really important, would you promise to listen to me, no matter how crazy I sound?"

Heather rolled over and propped herself onto her elbow. "Oh, intrigue! I love intrigue!"

"No, I'm serious. You're my best friend, and if you don't take me seriously I don't think anyone else ever will."

"Of course I will, babe!" Heather's eyebrows lowered as she frowned. "You're not in trouble, are you? Oh my God, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Claire took a deep breath. "It has to do with something that happened when I was younger…"

* * *

><p>"Wow," was all Heather could say an hour later, when Claire had finally finished telling her story.<p>

"I know."

"I mean…wow."

"Yep." Claire glanced over at her best friend in the pale moonlight. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Oh, Claire, sweetie." Heather reached over and hugged her. "Of course I do. I mean, it sounds crazy, I'll admit. But if you say it happened then it happened."

"OK, then." Claire had to admit her heart did feel a bit lighter. Maybe there really was something to talking this all out.

"I mean, it's actually kind of…awesome." Heather sat back. "To think that there really are angels and demons and monsters…"

"If by 'awesome' you mean freakishly terrifying, then yes."

"I always knew there had to be something else out there. Other than just us humans I mean." Heather sounded a bit smug.

Claire turned back to her friend. "But you can't tell anyone, all right? I'm, like, not ready for everyone to know about this. I don't know if I ever will be. So you can't tell anyone. Especially not Chris. Promise?"

Heather drew an "x" over her heart with her finger. "Promise. Your secret is safe with me."


	7. Chapter 7

Look Back in Anger, ch. 7

"So, did I lie?"

Angela sucked again on the spoon in her mouth. "No, you did not. This stuff really _is_ better than ice cream."

"It's called gelato," Claire corrected with a smile.

Another day had passed, and she and Angela were once again sitting on the swings in the park.

Claire didn't know why, but she'd felt compelled to visit with the child again. This time only her mother had accompanied her, but the woman still remained at a distance. Claire figured she didn't want to intrude on their conversation.

Claire had to admit she'd felt better in the last twenty four hours than she had in…well, she couldn't remember. After coming clean with Heather she had felt lighter, somehow. And last night she'd gotten the best sleep she'd had in years.

Not that she was about to admit this to the small child next to her. Instead she'd gone to Montenegro's downtown and picked up a few small cartons of gelato as a 'thank you.' She'd figured whatever hick town in Montana Angela lived in wouldn't have such a treat. She'd been right.

"May I try the chocolate again?" Angela now asked.

Claire obligingly spooned up some more and handed it over.

"Yum," the child said happily. "If you eat this stuff all the time how come you're so skinny?"

"I don't eat it all the time," Claire corrected. "And I'm not skinny. I'm…fashionable. Like they say, 'You can never be too rich or too thin.'"

"Who says that?"

"Um…I don't know, actually. Someone thin, probably."

Angela sucked on her spoon thoughtfully. "That's not true. Rich, I get. Money is nice to have. But you can be too thin. Men like to have a little something to grab hold of."

Claire's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"That's what Uncle Dean says. And I figure he should know," the child said innocently.

"Which one is Dean again?"

"The blond one."

"Oh." Claire wasn't about to admit she was relieved that Sam Winchester hadn't been the one to say such a thing. She been thinking more about the tall, brown-haired man than she would have liked ever since that morning she had seen him outside the Carter home.

Maybe Heather was right, she mused. Maybe it was time she jumped back into the dating pool.

"Hey, guys!" A voice called out to them.

As if her mind had conjured her, Claire was surprised to see Heather coming across the grass towards them. Somewhat behind her was Chris and Toby, both looking uncomfortable and out of place on the playground.

"Heather? What are you doing here?" Claire asked a little anxiously. She had been very careful not to reveal too much about Angela when she'd spoken to her roommate.

But Heather was smart. Now that she knew about angels and demons it wouldn't have been much of a leap for her to intuit that Angela was not quite human, either.

"I saw the note on the fridge," Heather said blithely, her red lips parted in a wide smile. "The three of us are headed downtown to check out the garage space so I thought we'd stop by. How are you today, cutie pie?" She asked the child.

"Good. I'm eating gelato," Angela informed her with her usual solemnity.

"Cool. And I sent that book back. Just so you know."

"Cool," Angela echoed with a grin.

Heather glanced over her shoulder and waved at the two men. "Come over here and say 'hi', guys. Geez."

Claire quickly glanced over to where Angela's mother stood a few yards away.

The woman's posture was alert as the newcomers approached her daughter, but she wasn't rushing over. Yet. That was a relief. If either of the Winchester men had been here she suspected Heather would have been tackled to the ground before she'd gotten anywhere near the swings.

"Angela, I'd like you to meet by boyfriend, Chris Carter. Chris, this is Claire's cousin, Angela."

The tall young man slouched casually. His fair hair was messy and his heavy metal t-short looked like he'd slept in it. His handsome face was bored.

"Hey," was all he said.

"Hi, Heather's boyfriend," Angela said politely.

"And this is our friend, Toby Rogen."

It hadn't been lost on Claire that Toby had winced visibly when Heather had introduced Chris as her boyfriend.

Poor Toby, she thought. All that unrequited love and nowhere to put it.

"Toby goes to school with us," Claire now added to try and cheer Toby up. "He's a great student. Dean's List and everything."

Angela seemed to sense Claire's concern. "Hi, Toby," she said kindly. "I like your shirt."

Toby may have hung out with Goths, but his own personal style still leaned to the Ivy Leagues. Today he was wearing a smart polo shirt, albeit in a Goth-approved shade of purple.

"Thank you." Toby smoothed his clothing self-consciously, causing Chris to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, nice shirt," Chris chortled.

"Don't be an ass," Heather snapped at him. She turned her attention back to the little girl.

"So, how much longer will you be visiting?"

"We're supposed to leave tomorrow afternoon," Angela explained.

"So soon?" Heather frowned.

"We did what we came here to do," the child said with a small shrug. "And I got to visit with Claire and her mom, so I'm good."

"But you haven't even seen our place yet!" Heather protested.

"Our place is a dump," Claire reminded her.

"Well, yeah, but it's ours, isn't it? I'd think you'd want your little cousin to see where you've been living. And, you know, Angela, Claire's got big things happening right now," she said, turning her attention back to the little girl. "She's going to be investing in this awesome warehouse where Chris is going to open his new garage. We're going to serve espresso and play excellent music for the customers—it'll be, like, a total experience."

"Hang on, I never said I'd invest." Claire frowned again. "I don't have any money _to_ invest."

She glanced over at Chris, who was fiddling with his cell phone. "Sorry," she told him.

"What for?" He asked, never taking his eyes from the screen.

Claire sighed.

"Toby, I hope you're not letting these two talk you into something you don't want to do," she told her other friend.

"Don't worry, Claire. They could never do that," Toby said with a gentle smile.

Somehow Claire doubted the truth of that. But Toby wasn't her problem at the moment. Angela was gazing at her again with those clear, blue eyes.

"I'd like to see your place," she admitted. "I've never seen where college students live. That would be cool."

"Oh, I don't know, kiddo. We'd have to ask you mom, and if you're going to be busy packing…"

"I don't really have anything to pack," Angela confessed. "All my stuff fits into one bag."

"Then come over tomorrow before your family has to hit the road. Claire makes awesome grilled cheese sandwiches," Heather teased.

"You do?" Angela asked.

"Well, yeah. That's pretty much the only thing I can cook," Claire confessed.

"Then it's all settled." Heather clapped her hands.

"Wait a second. Angela still had to get her mother's permission…"

"Oh, she'll say yes." Heather eyed the child. "You can totally get her to say 'yes,' can't you?"

Angela was thoughtful for a moment. "Depends. But, probably."

"Cool!" Heather leaned down and planted a loud kiss on the top of the child's head. "See you tomorrow, then!"

Before Claire could protest again Heather had scampered off back towards her car, Chris and Toby trailing in her wake.

She leaned back in her swing with a sigh. "Sorry about that. Heather is kind of a force of nature."

"That's ok," the child said good-naturedly. "I really like grilled cheese."

* * *

><p>Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in front of the garage. It had a green façade with two service bays opening to the street. Both were currently occupied by other vehicles.<p>

He swiftly exited and approached the front door. Inside was a small waiting area, redolent of tobacco and motor oil. Girlie calendars and beer signs decorated the walls.

Dean felt instantly at home. Not that he'd dream of letting another mechanic touch his baby. He was here on business.

"Hey, man." A slender, middle-aged men with coffee-colored skin emerged from a back office. "What can I do you for?"

"Hey. Joe Walsh." Dean held out his hand.

"Walter Quincy," the man said as he shook it. "I own this place." For the first time he glanced over Dean's shoulder out the large front windows. "Hey, that your Impala?"

"It is," Dean said proudly.

"1967?" Walter asked, instantly slipping into mechanic's mode. "385 bhp, with the Turbo Hydra-Matic?"

"You know your cars."

Walter whistled. "Yeah, well, you don't see too many of those still on the road. What a sweet ride."

"She is. Listen, I came by to ask you about a mechanic who's offered to do some work on her. I believe he used to work here. Chris Carter?"

The warm expression on the man's face cooled. "Chris. Yeah, he worked here."

"He seemed to know what he was talking about," Dean explained, "but, I dunno, I always like to check a guy out, you know?"

"I'm glad you did. Come on back to my office. Jose, I'm going to be talking with this guy for a few minutes," he hollered out into the service bay. "Yell if you need me."

"OK, boss!" A disembodied voice called back from under a mini-van.

Walter shoved a stack of parts catalogs aside so Dean could sit down inside the tiny space. "Look, Mr. Walsh, Chris did use to work here, that's true."

"But?"

"But I fired his ass." The owner sat down behind his desk and sighed. "I like to give young mechanics a chance, you know? And Chris isn't bad with engines, he really isn't. But his work ethic stinks."

"How so?"

"The usual. Came in late, left early. Left his tools lying around. Asked the other guys to cover for him when he screwed up."

Dean knew these were all considered cardinal sins in the world of gearheads.

"I don't get it. He said he worked for you for more than a year."

"Yeah, I know. My old lady said I was crazy. But that kid has a way with him, you know? Charm the birds right out of the trees when he wants to. I kept giving him second chances, third chances. He'd shape up, for a few weeks, and then he'd go right back into his bad old habits."

"Huh." Dean was quiet for a moment. "He's a friend of a friend, so I don't know him well. That's why I wanted to check him out."

"And of course once he came into the money all bets were off."

"Money?"

"Yeah, damndest thing! He got hit by a car a few months ago. Well, not even hit—grazed, I guess you'd say. And it was his fault—he was jaywalking. But the rich old guy driving freaked out and got his lawyer to give Chris this big cash settlement to keep quiet about the whole thing. Once he had the money Chris started partying as hard as he could, him and those weirdo friends of his."

"Wow. Lucky break." Dean titled his head. "Things like that happen to him often?"

"Hmm. Now that you mention it, he did win a couple of thousand bucks in a high-stakes poker game a few months before that. As I heard it that was right before he was about to get booted out of his apartment for not paying the rent. And then before that some relative died and left him some cash he pissed away on a new car. Some foreign-made hunk of junk that makes the girls hot."

"So, he's a lucky stiff, huh?" Dean said knowingly.

"Yeah. I never thought about it, but I guess he is." Walter chuckled. "That crazy girlfriend of his—"

"Heather," Dean supplied.

"—yeah, Heather, she'd always be going on about how it was his karma, or his mojo, whatever, to succeed. To be on easy street. And shame on her, putting bullshit ideas like that in that boy's head. No wonder he thinks he can't be bothered to hold down a job!"

"I hear you. We all gotta work, right?"

"Damn straight."

Dean stood up. "Well, thank you for your time, Walter. You've given me some things to think about."

The other man stood as well. "It's really up to you. Like I said, if you catch him on the right day Chris could probably do right by your baby out there. But…"

"I hear you. Thanks."

Dean waited until he was outside before pulling out his phone. He dialed as he slid behind the steering wheel of his car.

"Sammy, what's the news?"

"Not good." Even over the phone Dean could hear the concern in his brother's voice. He could also hear Sam moving around Chris Carter's apartment.

"Bobo was right—this guy is into some heavy black magic. There's lamb's blood in his fridge and cat bones in a jar on the coffee table," Sam reported.

"OK, so he's got the supplies. Any books? Parchment?"

Dean could hear Sam opening and closing drawers.

"No, and that's what's weird. He's got all the supplies, sure, but none of the instructions."

"So maybe he's getting those from Heather?" Dean started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

"Not according to Bobo. She's a dabbler, remember?"

"Yeah, well, maybe she's leveled up."

"Maybe." Sam sounded skeptical.

"Either way Claire needs to keep the hell away from this guy. And probably from Heather, too."

"And how are we going to get her to do that, Dean?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. I'll think of something."

"You better think fast. We're leaving tomorrow, remember?"

"I remember." Dean ended the call and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.


	8. Chapter 8

Look Back in Anger Ch.9

Claire was royally pissed at her roommate.

She did her best not to show it, though. Instead she carefully cut the sandwich she had just made for Angela into four triangles, as the child had requested. She poured each of them a glass of milk and sat down with her at the rickety kitchen table in her apartment.

She held up her glass of milk. "Cheers," she offered.

"Cheers." Angela happily clinked her glass to Claire's and then went to work on her lunch.

It wasn't that Claire minded having the child over. Even if it meant she had spent the morning cleaning in order to impress a five-and-a-half-year-old.

But she couldn't figure out why Heather had made such a fuss about having the girl over, and then had not bothered to show up.

Angela had said she didn't mind. "I came to see you, Claire," she'd explained after Claire had apologized for the sixth or seventh time.

"I'm going to miss you," Angela now said around a mouthful of grilled cheese.

"You will?" Claire was surprised to find that she was genuinely touched. She must have grown rather fond of the little rugrat in the last few days. "Thanks."

"You don't ever come to Montana, do you?"

"Uh, no. I mean, I never have."

"Bummer."

Claire glanced at the clock on the stove. Over the phone Jane Winchester had made herself very clear. Angela could visit for two hours, no more, and no less. At 3PM sharp Jane would be back to collect her daughter, and Claire didn't dare miss that deadline.

"So how much sweet-talking did you have to do to get your mom to let you come over?" Claire asked.

"A lot. But she knows you, and she knows your mom."

"And my dad," Claire supplied idly.

"No, she's never actually met Jimmy," Angela corrected. "I haven't either. Only Sam and Dean have."

"That's not exactly what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" The child asked, blinking up at her.

"Ummm…" Claire was of course burning with curiosity about where, exactly, Angela had come from. The little girl hadn't been found in the cabbage patch, after all.

Claire had lost her virginity during her sophomore year at college. She wasn't naive about how these things worked.

But the implications of the child's very existence were still sort of…mind-boggling.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "We'll talk about it when you're older. How's the sandwich?"

"Good, thank you."

Claire's phone chirped, and she quickly pulled it out of her pocket.

"Finally," she grumbled before putting it to her ear. "Heather, where the hell are you? You're missing our 'goodbye' lunch, which was your idea in the first place."

"I'm so sorry, babe. But Chris' car broke down and we need a ride."

"Then take Toby's." Claire stood and refilled Angela's glass.

"We all came in one car. We're down at the new garage."

"Again? You were just there yesterday," Claire groused.

"But we could only peek in the windows. Today Chris got the owner to give him the key. We're checking out all the space. I'm telling you, this place will be awesome! So, can you come and get us?"

"What? No!"

"Why not?" Heather whined.

"Because Angela is here. I can't leave her by herself in a strange apartment."

"Then bring her with you."

Claire ground her teeth together. "I can't. Her mom would kill me. Literally."

"I'm sure she wouldn't."

"You have no idea, Heather."

Even over the phone Claire could hear Heather's breathing quicken, a sure sign she was losing her temper.

"An hour of your time, babe. That's all I need. Put the kid in the backseat of your clunker, hop on down here and pick us up, and then, zip, you're home again."

Claire glanced at the clock again. "I don't know. That will be cutting in awfully close."

"Claire. Sweetie. You know I don't like calling in favors."

"Says who?"

Heather pretended she hadn't heard this. "But may I remind you that I was the one who found our apartment? I was the one who put down the security deposit when you didn't have any money. I was the one who helped you pass French last year, and I was the one who got you that date with Evan Reardon when you were so obsessed with him you stopped eating. You _owe_ me, babe."

"Fine. Fine. Just shut up already. We're on our way."

Heather was instantly light and sunshine again. "Thank you, Claire. I will owe you forever, I promise."

"You're damn right you will," Claire said firmly.

* * *

><p>They managed to hit a traffic snarl in downtown Minneapolis even though it wasn't technically rush hour yet.<p>

Claire chewed anxiously at her lip. Angela seemed happy enough in the back seat, and she had on her seatbelt and everything.

But Claire couldn't help but think that taking Angela out of the apartment at all was going to get her in big trouble.

"I'll just explain," Claire said to herself under her breath as she maneuvered around a taxi cab. "It's no big deal, right? We can still make it back in time."

The trip ate up the better part of an hour. Yet when they pulled up in front of the warehouse there was no sign of Heather, or Chris, or Toby. Heather's car was parked on the street, but no one was in it.

Claire pulled out her phone and dialed Heather's number. There was no answer.

They weren't in a very good neighborhood. The block looked deserted.

The building, with its banks of dirt-encrusted windows, looked like no one had entered it in years. The large rolling door that would have admitted cars into the service bay was closed, but there was a smaller door to one side.

Claire tried to reach Heather one more time, and then reluctantly put away her phone.

"C'mon, kiddo. Let's go in. They're probably upstairs and can't hear us or something."

Claire took Angela's hand. To her relief she found that the smaller door was indeed unlocked.

They stepped inside, into a dark, cool space that still reeked of gasoline and oil. Most of the fittings for the garage had been removed. They had left behind odd holes in the walls and floors, like missing teeth.

"Heather?" Claire called out. "We're here!"

There was no response.

They passed through a set of double doors. Now they were in some kind of foyer that separated the garage from the rest of the building. There was an old staircase in the far left corner. Judging from the layers of graffiti decorating the walls the space had been broken into more than once.

Claire went to the foot of the stairs.

"Chris? Toby? Answer me!" She put her hands on her hips. "And just so you know, if you guys are hiding I'm totally going to kick your asses!"

Angela had paused. She was gazing silently at the back of the doors that had closed behind them.

She suddenly grasped Claire's hand.

"Claire, look."

Claire turned and followed the child's gaze. At first all she saw on the doors was more graffiti.

But, like one of those pictures you had to stare at to see the hidden image, after a few seconds she could make out a strange marking that spanned both doors. It was a circle, several feet in diameter, with a strange character in the middle.

She was startled to see that there were several more on both sides of them.

"What are they?" The sound of her own voice in the silent space startled Claire.

"They're sigils. Real ones."

"But why? Why are they here?"

Angela was still carefully studying the figures scrawled on the walls and the ceiling over their heads.

"They're angel-repelling sigils, Claire. Very old, and very powerful ones." Angela's gaze sharpened. "We need to leave. Now."

But Claire, as if hypnotized, had already reached out a hand to carefully touch one. She had thought at first they might have been made of paint or lipstick, but instead her hand came away sticky.

Horrified she touched a few of her fingers together. The substance was thick, almost like…

"Oh my God! Heather!"

"Claire, wait!" Angela cried.

But it was too late.

Claire charged up the rickety staircase and through another pair of double doors.

She found herself in a large, open space that ran the length of the building. The windows were smeared with grime. Half-empty metal shelving units, old crates, and scattered papers suggested that it had at one time been used as storage space.

In the few moments it took her eyes to adjust to the weak light Angela arrived behind her. She tried to catch Claire's hand again, but the older girl pulled away.

"Claire, stop, please!"

Claire ignored her.

"Heather and the others might be here. They might be hurt, or need help…" Claire said as she walked slowly forward. Every nerve ending in her body was prickling, warning her of danger.

But she wasn't going to leave without her friend.

She carefully walked around a row of shelves, heading for the right side of the room where the shadows were deepest.

She found Chris first, nearly falling over his inert body.

"Chris?" Claire quickly kneeled down.

The man was lying on his stomach, head turned slightly to one side. Blood was oozing from a gash across the back of his head. A cracked piece of pipe, stained red with blood, lay nearby.

She felt for his pulse, and was relieved to feel one—faint, but steady. He moaned faintly when she touched him.

"Stay still, Chris," Claire whispered to him. "I'm going to get help, OK?"

"He-" Chris managed to say.

"Heather? Where is Heather, Chris? Is she here?" Claire asked urgently.

But Chris was unable to speak again. Instead he curled the fingers of his right hand against the floor. Claire realized he was pointing.

Terrified by what she was going to see, it took every ounce of strength in Claire's body to look in that direction.

She screamed.

Heather had been tied to a chair. Her head was dropped forward onto her chest, her long red hair concealing her face.

Claire rushed to her.

"Heather, don't worry, I'm here now…"

But as soon as Claire reached her she realized where all the blood for the sigils had come from.

The front of Heather's blouse was soaked with it, already congealing in the cold room. The terrible stains blended into Heather's red hair where it draped over her shoulders.

Claire reached out and touched the side of her roommate's face.

Heather's skin was cool. From her angle Claire could just barely see the edge of the gaping wound dividing Heather's throat like a ghastly smile.

"Claire!"

She whirled around, horrified to find Angela standing behind her.

"We need to go. Now." The child ordered.

Claire did not need any more prompting. She pulled Angela into her arms and ran for the doors, only to see them slam shut in front of them. There was another sigil drawn across it, the largest one yet.

Holding Angela close Claire backed away from it, her eyes frantically searching for another exit.

There wasn't one.

"Claire, Claire, Claire," said a voice from out of the darkness. "What am I going to do with you?"


	9. Chapter 9

Look Back in Anger, ch. 9

Claire turned around.

Toby Rogen stepped out of the shadows. His blue button-down shirt was splattered with blood. He held a large knife in one hand, using it to casually clean under the fingernails of the other.

"Toby?" Claire said hoarsely, unable to believe her eyes. "What have you done?"

Angel pushed herself away from Claire's arms, so she could see Claire's face.

"That isn't Toby," she said quietly.

"'Out of the mouths of babes,'" Toby said with a smirk. For the first time he let his eyes roll over into all black. Without pupil or iris they were as flat and lifeless as a shark's eyes, or…

"Doll's eyes." Claire whispered.

She shuddered violently. Angela slid to the floor, but Claire quickly put protective arms around the little girl.

The demon that was inside of Toby Rogen smiled at them. "I'm surprised you don't recognize me, Claire. After all, I was there when your mommy shot your daddy. I would have thought you'd remember everything about that day."

Claire shook her head, refusing to let those memories take hold.

"Why? Why would you do this?" She demanded. She was still trying to shield Angela, although she knew perfectly well Angela had seen Heather's body.

"What, this, in general?" The demon held out Toby's arms to encompass the room. "Or why did I slice up your roommate and cold cock her lunkhead of a boyfriend? Well, the second one is easy—I had to speed up my timeline."

"What do you mean, your 'timeline'?" Claire demanded. She frantically was trying to think of something she could do, anything. But nothing came to mind.

"Oh, Claire, poor, sad little Claire. We remember you, you know. We were supposed to retrieve the angel's empty vessel that night. You were just going to be collateral damage. Only then the angel possessed you, and we realized you've got the same freakish ability your father had. I had some time on my hands, so I thought I'd come up here, poke around, see what trouble I could make for you."

It smiled wolfishly. "You and your friends were such easy marks, too. Like Toby here. He was more than happy to listen to me. I gave him nothing but good advice, and in return all he had to do was let me borrow his body from time to time. And you, Claire. You were so busy feeling sorry for yourself that you never saw me, did you?"

Claire was silent.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' And Heather, that stupid slut, thinking that a little black magic here and there would get her what she wants…"

"Don't you dare say Heather's name!" Claire yelled.

"Oh, she was hardly innocent in all this, you know. Every spell I had Toby give her and Chris, every Ouija board session and card game I made sure came out in their favor, just made her more convinced that she really was a witch."

The demon paused for a moment.

"In fact, do you know why Heather asked you to bring the child here? Because she was going to try a new spell, one that she thought would get her and her grease monkey enough money to buy this dump. After what you told her about angels she thought just having the kid here might grant her enough mojo to pull it off. It wouldn't have worked, or course. But that's the funny thing about black magic—you get a taste, and you just keep wanting more."

The demon eyed Claire. "I already had Heather and Chris listening to me. I figured pretty soon I'd have you, too, Claire. And then I could have snapped your mind like a twig."

"Why? Why waste all your time on me?" Claire asked.

"Because I thought it would be funny," the demon chortled. "And it has been—it's been hilarious! I've been with you for ages, and you never had a clue!"

"How long have you been in there?" Angela asked quietly, huddling close against Claire's side.

"In Toby, you mean? Oh, on and off for a year. Maybe two."

"Years? You've been possessing Toby for years?" Claire echoed in horror. "Is he still in there, too?"

"Of course. Otherwise that little brat next to you would have picked me out in a second the other day. I made sure I was nowhere near Toby then. But I'll tell you, what- let's see if your friend is with us now." The demon mockingly rolled his eyes around as if pretending to gaze inside his skull.

"Toby? Toby? Nope, he'd not answering, I'm afraid. I think he snapped when I cut Heather's throat. He was crazy about her, you know. Always waiting for the day when she'd finally look his way. I promised him that when I'd made him powerful enough he could have any girl he wanted." The demon laughed. "I mean, seriously. What a schmuck."

"Don't listen to him, Claire," Angela urged. "Demons lie."

"Yes, we do, but in this case I happen to be telling the truth." The demon pointed the dagger he held at Angela. "I had my little plan all set up and running. Then of course you had to show up, with the Winchesters and Heaven's Whore…"

Claire's mind was reeling. "Who?"

"The brat's mother. That's what _we've_ called her since the day she was created." The demon shrugged. "How could we have known she was going to actually live up to the name and start screwing angels? Anyway, as I was saying, I had to speed things up, so here we are."

Claire could feel hot tears running down her face. "You're saying you killed Heather and destroyed Toby because you thought it would be funny?"

"Demons don't need a whole lot of motive to kill and maim," Angela observed quietly. "They're jerks."

The demon folded Toby's face into a gruesome, teeth-baring semblance of a smile. "You watch your mouth. If Crowley didn't have a thing for your mother he'd have let us kill and eat you when you were a baby."

"Crowley knows he can't lay a hand on my mother or me," Angela corrected. "You're stupid if you think you can."

"I can give it my best shot," the demon countered. "I mean, I was just going to have a little fun with Claire here and then _you_ drop into my lap? How can I resist?"

For somewhere in the distance they could hear a crash, the sound of metal against metal.

"Oooh, the cavalry is here," the demon chucked.

Claire looked down at Angela, scarcely daring to hope.

The child nodded. "They're coming, Claire," Angela said soothingly. "Just stay calm."

"Too bad they won't get here fast enough." The demon smiled. "Even your daddy would take awhile to work through all my sigils," he told Angela.

His all-black eyes flickered back to Claire. "But then, he's your daddy too, isn't he?" He mocked. "Angela's daddy inside the body of Claire's daddy. That must be confusing. The two of you should have your own reality show.'"

"Sam and Dean won't have to call Castiel," Angela said calmly. "They'll take care of you themselves."

"Tough talk from someone so small." The demon cocked its head. "But just out of curiosity…"

"I can text," the little girl said calmly.

"You wouldn't have had time," it scoffed.

"I had time to text the word 'trouble.' That was enough. My Uncle Dean and I are bonded together. He could find me blindfolded in the middle of a snowstorm if he had to. But I wouldn't expect you to understand how that works."

"How sweet," the demon said tartly.

The sounds of crashing were drawing closer. Claire took a deep breath. She had to focus. The only thing that mattered now was making sure Angela come out of this ok. She just had to keep the demon talking for a little while longer…

"It was me you were after. Why don't you let Angela go?" Claire asked. "She's just a child…"

"Oh, please, don't try that line on me! She's much more than a child and you know it!"

They could hear boot steps now, pounding up the metal staircase.

"But, since you asked so nicely…" The demon said.

The next events happened so quickly that even years later Claire could not remember the exact order.

The demon reached for them at the same time the doors burst open. Claire shoved Angela away from her, hard enough to send the child sprawling backwards.

The next thing she knew the demon's arm was coiled around her neck, and she was staring down the barrel of two guns.

"Angela?" Dean Winchester asked. His eyes didn't move from the demon, and the gun in his hands did not waver for a moment.

"I'm right here, Dean. I'm fine." The child got to her feet, brushing herself off. As if they had rehearsed just such a scenario the child immediately went to stand behind him, placing his solid body between her own and the danger in the room.

"Hello, boys," the demon hissed. "Long time, no see."

"Let the girl go," Sam Winchester ordered.

"Ah, no, don't think I will. But thanks anyway."

"You heard the man," Dean said. "Let her go."

The demon bared its teeth. Its chokehold around Claire's neck tightened.

"You got what you came for," it said. "You've got the little abomination back. But I have to have a little fun, too. Let me snap poor Claire's neck and put her out of her misery, and we'll call it even, OK?"

"No deal. You've lost this round. Let Claire go," Sam repeated.

"No," the demon hissed.

"You're not getting another warning," Dean told it.

"Go ahead and shoot. You'll either hit her, or you'll hit me but I'll be able to break her neck anyway. It's a win-win from my standpoint."

Claire pulled frantically at the steel-like arm around her neck. Little pinpricks of light sparked across her eyes as she gasped for breath. Blood roared in her ears.

The demon laughed. "You don't actually think I'm afraid of _you_ two, do you?"

"No," Dean told him. "But you should be afraid of _her_."

* * *

><p>The demon turned around a split second too late.<p>

Jane reached out and laid the palm of her hand on the demon's forehead.

It let out an agonized shriek, dropping Claire almost immediately.

Sam rushed to her and picked up her limp body, moving back to a safe distance. He held her as she wheezed and coughed.

From her vantage point behind Dean's legs Angela watched what happened next. Dean lowered his weapon and put a reassuring hand on her head, but he didn't force her to turn away.

Jane didn't have to exert any pressure or force to hold the demon in place. It was if it was suddenly rooted to the floor upon which it stood.

Claire was finally able to stop coughing and retching long enough to speak.

"What is she doing? It'll kill her!" Angela heard Claire gasp painfully.

"No, it won't. Jane is a Lazarus," Sam explained quietly in Claire's ear.

"Like in the Bible? That Lazarus?"

"Yes. Demons can't bear to have physical contact with her, but they can't resist it either."

Indeed, Jane's touch was holding the demon as effectively as a fly on a pin. It flailed its arms and gnashed its teeth. But it could not break free.

Angela put her hands over her ears as the demon screamed again. It seemed to be suffering terribly, but Angela could not bring herself to feel sorry for it.

Still Jane did not break contact.

A moment later black smoke erupted from Toby's mouth, billowing towards the ceiling. It writhed and twisted as if still in pain, doubling back on itself again and again as it tried, and failed, to get away from the Lazarus.

Angela's mother drew back slightly, and the smoke dropped to the floor. It burbled weakly, seeking refuge. It roiled and rolled over and over again upon itself.

Finally Jane dropped her hand. The black smoke quickly sought out a crack in the floor. It slid down into it, and a moment later was gone.

Jane brushed off her hands carefully as if they'd come into contact with something dirty. Then she held them out to her daughter.

"Mommy!" Angela rushed to her and allowed her mother to pick her up off her feet. She buried her face in the crook of her mother's shoulder, breathing in her reassuring scent. "I'm sorry, Mom," she whispered.

Jane just squeezed her daughter tighter.

* * *

><p>"You can put me down now," Claire told Sam weakly.<p>

"Yeah, right. Sorry." He gently set her back on her feet.

Claire took what sounded like a deep and pained breath. "You guys need to get out of here."

Dean looked from Heather's bound body, to Toby sprawled limply on the floor, to Chris, who was just beginning to stir again. "She's right."

"What are you going to tell people?" Sam asked her.

"I don't know," Claire said. Her voice was still soft but there was steely resolve behind it. "But I'll think of something. Take Angela and go."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Dean tucked his .38 back into his waistband. "Give us fifteen minutes, and then call 911."

"Got it." Claire nodded.

Sam reached out and pressed something into the palm of Claire's hand. She glanced down and saw a small silver cross on a leather strap.

"Tie it on your wrist," he told her. "The strap has been soaked in saltwater. Silver and salt burn anything that isn't human. So don't let anyone touch you without touching this first."

"I won't," she vowed.

* * *

><p>"Can I help them, Mom?" Angela whispered to her mother. "Can you?"<p>

"No, sweetheart," her mother told her gently. "I already checked on Heather. She has been dead for several hours. Neither you nor I can undo that. I'm so sorry."

"But I'm supposed to be able to help people, aren't I?"

Jane just pulled her daughter closer.

Angela let her mother carry her out of the room. She looked away from Heather's body and the barely-breathing human husk that had once been Toby Rogen.

The last thing she saw before the door closed behind them was Claire, standing straight and silent and alone in the middle of the room.

* * *

><p>"Is he going to be all right?" Claire asked as the paramedics rolled Chris out of the building on a gurney. Chris was struggling to open his eyes, but he still was unable to speak.<p>

"Looks like a compressed skull fracture. He's lucky to be alive. We'll get him to the hospital and they'll do everything they can for him," one paramedic said gently.

Claire nodded and stepped back.

The night was cold and dark but emergency services had the building lit up like it was daylight. Police were still combing through the space looking for evidence. Another officer had cordoned off the area, keeping a small cluster of curious onlookers away from where they were working.

The next gurney to be removed carried Toby, or what was left of him. He was breathing, but there was no other evidence of life now that the demon was through with him.

Claire shuddered violently. One of the detectives laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Let's sit you down before you fall down." He steered her over to the open door of an ambulance and helped her sit on the bumper.

Another paramedic handed her a blanket. Claire hugged it around her own body, her teeth chattering with delayed fear.

She had taken Sam Winchester's advice. With the leather bracelet tied around her wrist the silver cross dangled against the palm of her hand. Everyone she had come into to contact with had either shaken that hand, or she had made certain to brush it against them somehow.

"Calm down and take a breath," the detective now advised. "We've called your mother and she should be here soon. OK?"

"OK," Claire managed to say.

It seemed like days had passed since she had found Heather's body. But in reality she knew it had only been a few hours. She had answered all of the police's questions as honestly as she could, omitting only the presence of Angela and the Winchesters from her story.

"Toby kept saying that he was a demon," Claire now repeated. "It was like he was a totally different person, standing there with that knife in his hand."

"Sometimes people just snap," the detective told her.

"If I'd gotten here a little sooner…"

The detective shook his head. "If you'd gotten here sooner you'd be dead now, too."

"I know." Claire started to shiver again.

"Claire?"

She looked up at the sound of her mother's voice, but her own throat was still too sore to call back. She could see Amelia, being held back behind the police tape and now arguing with the officers.

A moment later her mother was in front of her, throwing her arms around Claire.

Claire hugged her mother tightly, letting the silver cross brush across the back of Amelia's bare neck.

Nothing happened. Claire took a deep, relieved breath.

"What happened, baby?" Her mother asked her. "Are you all right?"

Amelia took in the deep, purple bruises now ringing Claire's neck.

"No, you're not—what happened! Nobody on the phone would tell me anything." She looked from the detective to Claire and back again.

The detective gave Claire's mother a brief summary of events. Amelia put her hand over her mouth in horror as she listened.

"Oh, no, poor Heather! Are her parents…?"

"We've already send a squad car out to notify them, ma'am."

Amelia shook her head. Then she straightened her shoulders. "I want to take my daughter to the hospital myself. Can I do that?"

The closest paramedic nodded. "We've already checked her out. She's just got some scrapes, and bruised windpipe. But absolutely."

"Detective?" Amelia asked.

"Go ahead. She's answered all the questions we have for her right now." The man turned back to Claire. "We'll probably want to question you again tomorrow, though."

Amelia put an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "That'll be fine. She'll be at home with her family if you need her."

Claire almost chuckled as her mother helped her over to the family station wagon. "I can walk, Mom. My legs are fine."

"Just humor your mother, OK?"

Claire let herself be settled into the passenger seat, her mother tucking in the blanket around her like she was a toddler.

Amelia slid into the driver's seat and closed her own door firmly.

The two women sat in silence. The coroner's office was now removing the last and final gurney. Heather's body had been completely covered, but Claire could still see flashbulbs and cell phone cameras going off.

She looked away.

"Could we get out of here, please?"

"Yes." Amelia's expression was grim as she pulled away from the curb.

"Are the boys all right?" Claire asked as they drove. Evening rush hour was over. The streets downtown were nearly empty.

"Your stepfather is with them. We didn't tell them anything."

"Good. They don't need to hear about all this. It'll probably be all over the news in a few hours anyway. God, poor Mr. and Mrs. Murray. This is going to kill them."

Amelia was silent, staring straight ahead at the road. After several moments she spoke again.

"Toby didn't come up with this on his own, did he?" It was more a statement than a question.

"No, he didn't. It was a demon. It was after me. Apparently it had been for some time."

"Why?"

"Because…because I'm like Daddy, I guess. And because the demons remember what happened all those years ago, just like you and I do."

"Do you know, that's the first time in ten years I've heard you call your father 'Daddy,'" Amelia said quietly. "I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am, Claire. You know Jimmy never wanted any of this to happen to you. He loved you so much…"

"I know, Mom."

Amelia glanced over at her only daughter. "You weren't in that building alone."

"No. I had Angela with me. And if it wasn't for her, and for the Winchesters, I'd be dead now."

Amelia pulled the car over to the side of the road. She was shaking too much to drive.

"Mom, everything's OK now." Claire said gently, reaching out to put her arms around her mother. "I'm OK."

Amelia took a deep breath. "You know, the day that child showed up on our doorstep she said she'd come all this way to help you. That's what she kept saying. That she wanted to help you. I remember thinking, how is this little tiny child going to help my Claire? What can she possibly do?"

"I know, Mom. I was wrong about her, too."

"And those men…you know, this makes three times now they've saved you." Amelia pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. "Three times."

"I know that, too." Claire smiled tremulously. "Listen, let's just go to the hospital and get them to look me over. And then when we get home let's you and I sit down and have a long talk. I need you to tell me everything you remember about what happened the night Daddy left for good."

Amelia blinked at her. "You really want to hear about all that? After all these years?"

"It's way overdue, don't you think?" Claire smiled.

* * *

><p>Angela knew she was perfectly safe.<p>

And yet here she was, hours later, still sitting in her mother's lap. She found she wasn't ready to lose that physical contact just yet.

"Go to sleep, baby, please," her mother coaxed her again. "It's after midnight."

"I'm not tired, Mom. I want to stay up with you and Sam and Dean."

As soon as they had left the warehouse her uncles had hastily packed up the motel room and relocated them to another one on the west side of the city. In the morning they would be leaving for Montana.

That was hunter's rule number one. As soon as a job was finished get the hell out of Dodge.

Sam and Dean were hunkered down over the police scanner. They had the television on with the sound turned off and were monitoring news feeds on their cell phones.

The story was already starting to break across the city. By morning it would be in papers all over the state.

Angela was still trying to wrap her mind around everything that had happened. It had been a genuinely scary day—the first one she'd ever had.

She had known about monsters her whole life. She was being raised as a hunter's child, just as Sam and Dean had been. That meant that her family did not lie to her about the very real dangers in the world around them.

Yet seeing those monsters in action had been different than the stories. Claire's friend Heather was dead, and Toby might as well be.

Angela had looked right at Toby, and she hadn't known. Was it because Toby hadn't come close enough to her? Or was there some other reason she had been unable to see it?

Angela was still turning it over and over in her mind. She needed to talk to Cass and the other angels. They had never been human, so they tended to see things in the most dispassionate light possible. They might be better able to explain what had happened.

Sam and Dean, on the other hand, were not particularly concerned about "why" or "how." They were just relieved that Angela had gotten a warning to them in time.

"See," Dean now said, glancing away from the television screen. "This is why we have rules. This is why we always follow procedure."

"I know that, Dean," Angela said solemnly. "I had Mom's phone with me, just like you always said I should."

"I would have preferred that you hadn't gone off with Claire in the first place," Jane said quietly.

"I know that, too, Mom." The child was quiet for a moment. "But, on the other hand, if I hadn't been there that demon would have killed Claire. None of us would have been there to stop it."

"She's right, you know," Sam said.

Dean grunted. "Doesn't mean I'm happy about how things went down. I still think it was way too risky." He eyed his niece. "You're not big enough or strong enough to take on a demon. So don't try. Got that?"

"Yes, Dean."

There was a soft tap at the door.

"What now?" Dean groused, reaching for his gun.

Sam held up a hand, forestalling him. "It's Claire, Dean."

"How did she know where we are?"

"I told her when she called about an hour ago. She was worried about Angela."

"Great. Thanks for sharing that, Sam." Dean went to the door and opened it just to the limit of the security chain. Then he nodded and opened it fully.

Claire stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her outlandish make-up had been scrubbed off her face, and the various piercings had been removed. She looked older somehow, and much more serious, in spite of the pink hair. Sam's silver cross still dangled from one wrist.

Dean reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew Bobby's battered old flask. He held it out to Claire.

"Here. Drink up."

The young woman looked at him skeptically. "What is it?"

"Holy water."

Claire's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Isn't that…sacrilegious?"

Dean shrugged. "Welcome to our world."

Claire opened it, and took a swallow. She then handed the flask back. "Happy?"

"How do you know you weren't followed?"

"Sam said to only take city streets, and to double back four times. So that's what I did."

Angela jumped down from her mother's lap and threw her arms around Claire's waist. "Are you ok, Claire?"

"I'm fine, kiddo. My mother took me to the hospital to get checked out. I'm just a little bruised, that's all." Claire cupped the child's face between her hands. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. But I'm so sorry about Heather. And Toby."

Angela could see the sheen of tears in Claire's eyes.

"I know, sweetie. I am, too," the older girl said. "You tried to warn Heather, and me. We didn't listen. There wasn't anything else you could have done."

Claire looked over at Jane who was sitting quietly on the bed. She was the only person who hadn't spoken yet.

"Jane, please believe me. If I had any idea—any at all—about that demon I would have never let Angela near it, or me. I promise you that."

Jane remained silent.

"You have every right in the world to be angry at me. But please forgive me."

Jane still didn't respond.

Sam shook his head. "Don't take it personally, Claire. When Jane is angry she stops talking to people. She once went three whole months without speaking to Castiel."

"How did he get her to change her mind?"

"He didn't. She found out she was pregnant," Dean said flatly. "Sort of had to talk to him then."

"Oh." Claire looked down at her shoes. "Well, what she was able to do, pulling the demon out of Toby like that…that was amazing. The demon had said something about Jane being 'created,' but I didn't know what it meant at the time."

"Look, I know I'm treading on thin ice as it is," she continued. "But I have to ask. Is she human?"

None of the Winchesters looked offended by the question.

"Well, yes and no," Sam ventured.

"I'm human," Jane corrected. All eyes turned in her direction.

"But something…happened to me," Jane explained.

"Like what happened to my father?" Claire asked.

"No, not exactly. I was…stabbed. In the heart. And I died."

"Oh my God. Did a demon…"

"No, no, nothing like that." Jane looked off in the far distance for a moment, remembering.

"He was just an angry kid I was trying to treat in the emergency room. He'd been arrested in a gang fight, he was injured, scared… He got one of his hands out of the cuffs and got a hold of a scalpel…It was an accident. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all."

Angela's mother pulled down her collar to expose the top of the scar that began at her breastbone. It was still raised but faded now. Angela knew it ran all the way down her mother's chest to the bottom of her ribs.

"My colleagues rushed me into surgery and did the best they could to save me. They were all talented doctors. But it just wasn't in the cards."

"So you died," Claire repeated.

"Yes. And four days later I came back."

"Like Lazarus in the Bible? That's what Sam said."

"Yes, although fortunately I wasn't in a tomb. Just a drawer in the morgue."

Claire frowned. "How?"

Jane smiled. "I don't know."

"Then, why? _Why_ were you brought back? And why _you_?"

"Believe me, I've asked myself that a lot over the last seven years. I still don't know for sure. But I can tell you that after I came back, I could hear the angels."

"Daddy could do that," Claire whispered. "My mother says that's how it all started."

"Some people can," Sam weighed in. "It's not as unusual as you might think. There are those who believe the ability is biological, or even genetic, a part of certain bloodlines."

"That thing inside Toby said that's why I was able to hear them, too," Claire offered.

Jane nodded. "The demon was probably correct. About that, anyway."

"But the difference with me is that I could also talk back to them," she continued. "And I could see them, with or without their vessels. And not just angels, but a whole lot of other stuff that until that moment I'd assumed didn't exist. And it was…well, terrifying would be a gross understatement. World-shattering might be more accurate."

"I know. It is." Claire was quiet for a long moment.

"And for the record," Jane said with a slight smile, "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at myself. I've been ignoring my maternal instincts for days now. I sensed there was danger, but I kept pushing it aside. If I'd taken those feelings more seriously things might have turned out differently."

"Maybe," Dean said philosophically. "But maybe not."

"All I know is that if Angela hadn't been there I would be dead now," Claire said plainly. "And that's the other reason why I'm here."

The young woman turned back to Sam and Dean.

"I need you two to teach me."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Teach you what?"

"All of it. That demon was close to us for months, and I never suspected a thing. If I'd been prepared, if I'd known what to do…"

"You're saying you want to be a hunter?" Dean asked skeptically.

"If that's what it's called, then, yes. I can't keep waiting around for other people to save me. I need to know how to save myself."

"It's unlikely demons or anything else will come after you again," Sam offered.

"Isn't that what my father said to you when you tried to stop him from going back to Pontiac?" Claire countered. "And he was wrong, wasn't he?"

"He was." Dean nodded.

"OK, then." Claire held her arms out to show her willingness. "Teach me."

"It's not that simple." Sam shook his head. "What you're asking…it takes years…"

"I've got years," the young woman countered.

"It's hard," Dean told her. "Really goddamn hard."

"I can deal with that."

"More likely than not you'll get yourself killed. Most new hunters do," Dean mused.

"No, she won't," Angela corrected. "You saw how quick she thought on her feet, pushing me out of the way like that. She'll be a good hunter. You'll see."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Claire told the child. She then turned her gaze back to the two men. "Well?"

Sam and Dean shared a long glance.

"It doesn't sound like we have much of a choice," Sam finally said.

"There're always choices," Dean countered. "It's just that most of them suck."

He shot a steely glare at the young woman. "OK, we'll try and teach you some of what we know. On two conditions."

"Name them."

"One: you come out to Montana. We need to stay close to Angela, and she needs to be at home. It'll be months before you know enough to be anything but dead weight on the road anyway."

Claire straightened her thin figure to show she wasn't offended. "I'm graduating in June. I can do that."

Dean held up his hand.

"And, two: when we talk, you listen. Whatever Sam or I tell you to do, you do. You don't argue, and you don't question. If I'm going to be stuck being Yoda you'd better make a better student than Luke Skywalker did. Got it?"

Jimmy's daughter nodded firmly. "Got it."

She glanced around the room, taking in the three adults and the child.

"You won't regret this. I promise you that," she vowed.


	10. Chapter 10

Look Back in Anger, ch. 10

On a sunny day in June Angela and her mother drove back to St. Paul to attend Clair's college graduation ceremony.

The episode with Toby had already been largely forgotten, pushed off the front pages by other crises in other parts of the world. Chris had skipped town just after Heather's funeral. Toby himself was safely resting in a local mental hospital, still oblivious to the rest of the world. The D.A. had decided he was not competent enough to stand trial, so it was likely his stay there would be of some duration.

In spite of everything that had happened Claire had managed to pull things together in the last few months of the academic year. After moving back home she redoubled her efforts at school. In the end she squeaked by with just enough units to graduate. It was a small victory, but both families were happy to take it.

At the ceremony they sat with the Carter family and watched Claire march across the outdoor stage and get her diploma.

Afterwards there was a large public reception for all the graduates on the grassy quad. Angela presented Claire with the bouquet of flowers she'd picked out. Mr. Carter, who assumed she and Jane were distant relatives from somewhere on Jimmy's side of the family, took photograph after photograph. Angela played tag with the two Carter boys.

Finally, while the adults were distracted chatting with the university president and his wife, and the boys were distracted with cake, Angela took Claire by the hand and led her from the reception. They headed for a small grove of trees away from the celebrating families.

"Where are we going?" Claire laughed as the child tugged at her.

"You'll see."

They stopped under a cluster of white pines. Their spreading branches gave them shade and privacy.

Angela carefully positioned Claire. "OK. Stand right there."

"You're freaking out the freaks right now, do you know that?" Claire laughed. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Angela pointed her small finger. "There."

Claire sucked in a sharp breath. "_Daddy_."

He was standing there in the grass, looking at them.

The little girl squeezed Claire's hand in her own. "No, Claire. It's Castiel."

Angela then took a small step forward and held out her other hand. Castiel took it, linking the three together with the child in the middle.

"The two of you never met properly, so I'm going to introduce you now, ok?" Angela looked up at Claire with a hopeful expression.

The older girl could only nod.

"Claire, this is Castiel. Angel of Thursday, Angel of patience and strength, will power and persistence. Cass, this is Claire Novak, Jimmy's daughter. You remember her."

"You were briefly my vessel," the angel said.

His voice was low and rumbling like distant thunder—nothing like the gentle voice Claire remembered from her father.

"Because you said you would save us if I let you in," Claire reminded him. She took a shaky breath. "I was so scared I'd never see my parents again…"

She looked into the angel's blue eyes.

The color was the same, but Jimmy's eyes had always been warm and laughing. These eyes were hard and cold, as if they had seen far too much to ever laugh again.

Angela looked from one to the other, encouraging them silently to continue.

"If Jimmy had died that day he would have gone to Heaven," Castiel told Claire. "Do not doubt that he would have been rewarded for the sacrifice he had already made for me."

"When you were…inside me," Claire swallowed hard, "I couldn't see or hear anything. It was like being drowned, only in light instead of water. My mother has told me my father offered himself to you. To save me. Is that really what happened?"

Castiel was silent for a moment.

"Tell her the truth," Angela urged him. "She should know."

"He did not want you to suffer," the angel explained slowly, as if remembering it for the first time himself.

"He offered himself to me again as my vessel. I told him there would be a great deal of suffering for him, and that if I were ever to release him again he would certainly die. But he insisted. Jimmy Novak was a good man. I could not deny him his request."

Claire smiled tremulously. "Yes, he was, a very good man. I never really realized how good until now."

"Your dad gave up Heaven so you could have a future, Claire," Angela said softly. "That sure sounds like love to me."

Tears began to stream down Claire's cheeks. But still she smiled.

"Is she all right?" Cass asked his daughter.

"Yes. Those are happy tears, not sad ones," she assured him.

Angela smiled at Claire. "You can hug him, if you want. He'll let you."

The idea of putting her arms around something as powerful as an angel was genuinely frightening.

"I can?"

"Sure. I do it all the time."

Claire knew her father was really gone. That what was before her was Jimmy's body, but that Jimmy was somewhere far away now, someplace she could not reach.

But she still could not resist reaching out her arms and gently, carefully, putting them around the angel's shoulders.

Castiel held perfectly still. His body was so hard it was like hugging a statue made of marble.

But for just a split-second Claire thought she got a whiff of Jimmy's aftershave, and that she felt Jimmy's heart beating again her own.

Angela's voice broke the spell.

"We need to get back. Our mom's are going to be looking for us."

Claire let go, and Jimmy was gone.

"It was nice to see you again," Castiel said politely.

Claire almost laughed. "You, too. I guess I'll see you around."

There was a fluttering sound, like giant wings, and the angel was gone.

Claire reached down and took Angela's hand again.

"Let's go, squirt. I've got a lot of packing to do."

* * *

><p>The bottle propped up on the stack of two by fours exploded, and Dean Winchester stepped back with a smile.<p>

"See? It's not that hard."

"You just have to breathe," Sam said encouragingly. "Try again."

Claire took a deep breath, pointed the .38 Dean had handed back to her at a bottle, and fired.

Nothing.

"You're dropping your shoulder again," Dean told her.

In July, with the grass growing high and the bees buzzing in the wildflowers, Claire arrived at the cabin.

She was determined to learn everything she could about hunting. Amelia had given her daughter her reluctant blessing.

The story put out around town was that she was the daughter of a friend in town for school. Claire was indeed already enrolled at the local junior college to repeat a couple of classes, hoping to pull up the rather abysmal GPA she had graduated with.

But a whole different type of instruction took place at the cabin when Sam or Dean was home. The rest of the time Claire poured through Bobby's books, soaking up as much information as she could.

With the little house now full to bursting the family had decided to add on two more rooms: one for Angela, and one for Claire. Then Sam and Dean could move into Angela's old room.

A couple of hunters passing through had stuck around to help frame out the addition. But it was up to the Winchesters to get the roof on and the walls closed in, a job that was taking place incrementally during the warm summer days.

"It's not fair! You two are guys; of course you can do this," Claire now complained.

"You were the one who wanted to get in some target practice," Dean reminded her.

"It's not a gender thing," Sam told her. "It's just a skill that needs to be learned. Hey, Jane?" He called.

"What?" The older woman appeared on the back porch. "Isn't break time almost over? It'd be nice if Angela and Claire had their new rooms before the snow flies," she teased.

"C'mere and show Claire how it's done." The older Winchester brother grinned widely. "She doesn't think chicks can shoot."

Jane rolled her eyes. But she stepped out into the yard and took the gun from Claire's hand.

"Move back a bit," she told the young woman gently. "Even a .38 kicks a little."

"Gun safety, right." Claire slid back, chastened. "I keep forgetting."

Jane extended the gun in her right hand, sighting down the barrel. She took a breath, exhaled, and fired.

Another bottled exploded.

"Ah, man!" While the Winchesters cheered Claire ran her hands through her hair in frustration.

She was letting the shaved part grow back. With a little help from a bottle she was also back to being a blonde. Part of being a hunter, the Winchesters had told her, was being able to blend in with the crowd. And nobody with pink hair could blend in.

"And you can do it one-handed, too!" Claire groused to Jane. "That looks way cooler than using two hands."

"You don't learn to fire a gun with one hand until you've learned to fire it with two," Dean said firmly. "We're the teachers; we make the rules. Yoda and Skywalker, remember?"

"Don't let them get to you," Jane consoled. "They just like showing off. And don't forget, my dad was a cop. He started teaching me how to shoot when I was eight. So you'll catch up."

Jane handed the gun to Sam so he could reload it.

"Angela, honey?" She called out. "Don't stay out too late; dinner will be ready soon!"

"Ok, Mom!" A voice called back from somewhere in the distance.

Dean set up a few more bottles, and Sam gave the gun back to Claire.

He placed a large hand on her shoulder.

"Let's try again. And breathe this time."

* * *

><p>Angela had taken advantage of the fading sunlight to play in the woods before dinner.<p>

She shimmied up a particularly fine oak tree, and sat on the biggest branch. In the distance she could see the roof of the cabin, and hear the shots as Dean and Sam worked with Claire.

She swung her feet back and forth in contentment. The big city had been interesting, but it was nice to be home.

"Hello."

A man had popped into existence next to her. A naked man.

Angela knew from school what she was supposed to do any time a strange man approached her: yell "stranger danger!" and run away.

But she understood immediately from his fat cheeks and fat tummy what he was. That, and the fact the branch wasn't bowing at all under what must have been his considerable weight, was a dead giveaway.

"You're Cupid, aren't you?" She asked.

He beamed at her. "I'd heard you were smart! Hugs!" He cried happily.

Angela reluctantly allowed herself to be embraced.

"Oooh, it's so nice to have a baby sister!" He crowed as he squeezed her tightly. "We haven't had one of those in eons!"

"You're smooshing me," Angela told him mildly.

"Oh, sorry." He pulled back until they were at arm's length again.

"You don't look anything like the cherubs on our mantelpiece," the child observed. "They're all babies."

"Hey, whatever image makes the humans more comfortable, you know?" Cupid chuckled.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment watching the sun begin its slide behind the mountains.

"So, are you the one that got my parents together?" She asked him. "I'm just curious."

But the cherub shook his head. "Oh, no, that wasn't us. We can't influence one of our brothers. Or a Lazarus, for that matter. No, your parents had to work it out on their own, which is why it took so long. Believe me, if we'd had any say in it you would have been born a lot sooner."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I just popped by to say 'thank you.'"

Angela raised her eyebrows. "For what?"

He chuckled. "For bringing Claire out here, silly. Saves us a lot of work!"

"Um, I'll bite. Why?"

"Because," he drawled, "she needs to get together with Sam. I would have thought that was obvious."

Angela was seldom surprised, but she was now. She tried to picture her serious uncle and fragile Claire as a couple. She just couldn't do it.

"Oh, Mr. Cupid, I don't think that's going to work. He's, like, at least ten years older than she is. That's a lot, in human years. And they don't even know each other."

"Pshaw." The cherub smiled smugly. "We get couples over tougher barriers all the time, believe me. But at least you solved the geographic distance problem for us."

Angela frowned. "I didn't find Claire to make you happy," she told him solemnly. "I found her so that demon wouldn't hurt her. And so she could make peace with what happed to her and to Jimmy."

"Yes, and that last bit's wonderful, too. If she's going to be a happy wife and mother to all those kids she needs to work through all that." Cupid clapped his plump hands. "Now they're in each other's orbit and we just sit back and let nature take its course."

"Claire doesn't want to be a wife and mother right now," Angela corrected. "She wants to be a hunter. And she'll make a good one."

"I didn't say they had to get together right this _second_," Cupid retorted. "Just eventually. I don't make the rules, sweetie, I just carry them out."

"Well, you're not going to carry them out while I'm around," the child said sternly. "I love them both very much and I don't want you messing with either of them."

The cherub held up his hands. "Who's messing? Like I said, I haven't had to do anything yet."

Angela regarded him seriously. "I could warn them."

"Sure, you _could_. Or," Cupid wiggled his brows, "is warning them what puts the idea in their heads in the first place?"

Angela thought about this. "Damn," she finally said.

"It is a conundrum, isn't it?" He chirped.

"Now I get why Cass doesn't like you guys."

The cherub patted her cheeks. "Don't be so gloomy, little sister. Everything will work out. It always does. You're proof of that."

"Oh, go away. You're annoying me."

Cupid gave her another squeeze, and then disappeared.

Angela sighed and took a deep breath.

No, she shouldn't say anything.

It was ridiculous, after all.

And nobody would believe it.

Would they?

She climbed down and ran back towards the house in time to find Sam and Dean packing up all their gear.

"Go on inside and wash your hands for dinner," Dean told her over his shoulder as he carried the gun cases inside.

"I will," she promised. She reached out and grabbed Sam's hand.

He grinned down at her. "Hey, short stuff. Find anything good in the woods?"

Angela glanced over at Claire, who was sweeping up broken glass and muttering to herself. Evidently the lesson hadn't gone well.

She looked up into her uncle's green eyes, and smiled.

"Nope," she told him.


End file.
